Chapter VIII: Part II: C.j.s (2)

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I leaned my back against an oak,
But first it bent and then it broke,
Untrusty as I found that tree,
So did my love prove false to me.

Down in a mead the other day,
As carelessly I went my way,
And plucked flowers red and blue,
I little thought what love could do.

I saw a Rose with ruddy blush,
And thrust my hand into the bush,
I pricked my fingers to the bone,
I would I'd left that rose alone!

I wish! I wish! but 'tis in vain,
I wish I had my heart again!
With silver chain and diamond locks,
I'd fasten it in a golden box.

[Footnote 25: May be omitted in singing.]

No. 87 THE RAMBLING SAILOR

H.F.S.

[Music]

I toss my cap up into the air,
And away whil'st all are sleeping,
The host may swear, and the hostess stare,
And the pretty maids be weeping:
There is never a place that I do grace,
Which a second time shall see my face;
For I travel the world from place to place,
And still am a Rambling Sailor.

O when I come to London town,
Or enter any city,
I settle down at the Bell or Crown,
And court each lass that's pretty.
And I say, "My dear, be of good cheer,
I'll never depart, you need not fear!"
But I traveled the country far and near
And still am a Rambling Sailor.

And if that you would know my name,
I've any that you fancy,
'Tis never the same, as I change my flame,
From Bet, to Joan, or Nancy.
I court maids all, marry none at all,
My heart is round, and rolls as a ball,
And I travel the land from Spring to Fall,
And still am a Rambling Sailor.

No. 88 WILLY COOMBE

C.J.S.

[Music]

'Twas in the month of May, when flowers spring,
When pretty lambkins play, and thrushes sing.
When young men do resort
To walk about in sport
Not thinking any harm, at Crantock games.

Crantock and Newlyn men, all in one room,
The first mark that was made, it proved my doom.
My name is Willy Coombe,
Just twenty, in my bloom;
Just twenty in my bloom when I was shot.

'Twas by a musket ball so swift did fly
Which pierced my body through, so I must die.
My brother swift did ride;
To Truro Town he hied.
Alas! alack-a-day, my cruel lot!

The surgeon said 'twas o'er, none could me cure,
Bleeding all night, great pains I did endure.
Coroner and jury true
My body well did view.
And from this wound I die at Crantock games.

Father, your son is dead, your sorrow bear
Mother, don't break your heart, O mother dear!
Sister, don't cry nor grieve,
It will not you relieve
No warning was I giv'n when I was shot.

No. 89 MIDSUMMER CAROL

C.J.S.

[Music]

'Twas early I walked on a midsummer morning,
The fields and the meadows were deckèd and gay,
The small birds were singing, the woodlands a-ringing,
'Twas early in the morning, at breaking of day,
I will play on my pipes, I will sing thee my lay!
It is early in the morning, at breaking of day.

O hark! and O hark! to the nightingales wooing,
The lark is aloft piping shrill in the air.
In every green bower the turtle-doves cooing,
The sun is just gleaming, arise up my fair!
Arise, love, arise! none fairer I spie!
Arise, love, arise! O why should I die?

Arise, love, arise! go and get your love posies,
The fairest of flowers in garden that grows,
Go gather me lilies, carnations and roses,
I'll wear them with thoughts of the maiden I chose.
I stand at thy door, pretty love, full of care,
O why should I languish so long in despair?

4[26]

O why love, O why, should I banished be from thee?
O why should I see my own chosen no more?
O why look your parents so slightingly on me?
It is all for the rough ragged garments I wore,
But dress me with flowers, I'm gay as a king,
I'm glad as a bird, when my carol I sing.

Arise, love, arise! in song and in story,
To rival thy beauty was never a may,
I will play thee a tune on my pipes of ivory,
It is early in the morning, at breaking of day,
I will play on my pipes, I will sing thee my lay!
It is early in the morning, at breaking of day.

[Footnote 26: May be omitted in singing.]

No. 90 THE BLACKBIRD IN THE BUSH

H.F.S.

[Music]

Three fair maidens a milking did go,
Three maidens a milking did go,
And the wind it did blow high,
And the wind it did blow low,
And it tossed their pails to and fro.

Then they met with a man they did know,
O they met with a man they did know,
And they said, Have you the skill,
And they said, Have you the will,
For to catch us a small bird or two?

Here's a health to the blackbird in the bush,
Likewise to the merry wood-do'e (dove).
If you'll go along with me
Unto yonder flow'ring tree,
I will catch you a small bird or two.

So they went till they stayèd at a bush,
So they went till they stayèd at two.
And the birds they flew about,
Pretty birds flew in and out
And he caught them by one and by two.

So my boys we will drink down the sun,
So my boys we will drink down the moon!
For we birds are of one feather,
And we surely flock together,
Let the people say little or none.

No. 91 THE GREEN BED

H.F.S.

[Music]

Young Sailor Dick, as he stepped on shore,
To his quarters of old return'd,
The hostess glad, cries "Dick my lad!
What prize money have you earn'd?"
"Poor luck! poor luck! yet Molly, my duck,
Your daughter I've come to see:
Get ready some supper, with pipes and grog,
And the best Green Bed for me."

"My daughter, she's gone out for a walk;
My beds are all bespoken;
My larder's bare, like the rum-keg there,
And my baccy pipes all are broken."
Says Dick, "I'll steer for another berth,
I fear I have made too bold:
But I'll pay for the beer that I've just drunk here,"
And he pulled out a hand-ful of gold.

"Come down Molly, quick! here's your sweetheart Dick
Has just come back from sea:
He wants his supper, his grog and a bed,
The best Green Bed it must be."
"No bed," cries Dick, "no supper, no grog,
No sweetheart for me I swear!
You shewed me the door when you thought me poor,
So I'll carry my gold elsewhere."

No. 92 THE LOYAL LOVER

C.J.S.

[Music]

I'll weave my love a garland,
It shall be dressed so fine;
I'll set it round with roses,
With lilies, pinks and thyme.
And I'll present it to my love
When he comes back from sea,
For I love my love, and I love my love,
Because my love loves me.
Blow summer breeze, o'er the sea
Bring my pretty love to me.

I wish I were an arrow,
That sped into the air;
To seek him as a sparrow,
And if he was not there,
Then quickly I'd become a fish
To search the raging sea;
For I love my love, and I love my love,
Because my love loves me.
Blow &c.

I would I were a reaper,
I'd seek him in the corn;
I would I were a keeper,
I'd hunt him with my horn.
I'd blow a blast, when found at last,
Beneath the green-wood tree,
For I love my love, and I love my love,
Because my love loves me.
Blow &c.

No. 93 THE STREAMS OF NANTSIAN

C.J.S.

[Music]

O the Streams of Nant-si-an
In two parts divide,
Where the young men in dancing
Meet sweetheart and bride.
They will take no denial,
We must frolic and sing.
And the sound of the viol
O it makes my heart ring.

On the rocky cliff yonder
A castle up-stands;
To the seamen a wonder
Above the black sands.
'Tis of ivory builded
With diamonds glazed bright,
And with gold it is gilded,
To shine in the night.

Over yonder high mountain
The wild fowl do fly;
And in ocean's deep fountain,
The fairest pearls lie.
On eagle's wings soaring,
I'll speed as the wind;
Ocean's fountain exploring,
My true love I'll find.

O the streams of Nant-si-an
Divide in two parts,
And rejoin as in dancing
Do lads their sweethearts.
So the streams, bright and shining
Tho' parted in twain,
Re-unite, intertwining,
One thenceforth remain.

No. 94 THE DRUNKEN MAIDENS

F.W.B.

[Music]

There were three drunken maidens,
Came from the Isle of Wight.
They drank from Monday morning,
Nor stayed till Saturday night.
When Saturday night did come, Sirs!
They would not then go out;
Not the three drunken maidens,
As they pushed the jug about.

Then came in Bouncing Sally,
With cheeks as red as bloom.
"Make space, my jolly sisters,
Now make for Sally room.
For that I will be your equal,
Before that I go out."
So now four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.

It was woodcock and pheasant,
And partridges and hare,
It was all kinds of dainties,
No scarcity was there.
It was four quarts of Malaga,
Each fairly did drink out,
So the four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.

Then down came the landlord,
And asked for his pay.
O! a forty-pound bill, Sirs!
The damsels drew that day.
It was ten pounds apiece, Sirs!
But yet, they would not out.
So the four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.

"O where be your spencers?
Your mantles rich and fine?"
"They all be a swallowed
In tankards of good wine."
"O where be your characters
Ye maidens brisk and gay?"
"O they be a swallowed!
We've drunk them clean away."

No. 95 TOBACCO IS AN INDIAN WEED

C.J.S.

[Music]

Tobacco is an Indian weed,
Grows green at morn, is cut down at eve;
It shows our decay;
We fade as hay.
Think on this,--when you smoke tobacco.

The pipe that is so lily-white,
Wherein so many take delight,
Gone with a touch;
Man's life is such,
Think on this,--when you smoke tobacco.

The pipe that is so foul within,
Shews how the soul is stained with sin;
It doth require
The purging fire.
Think on this,--when you smoke tobacco.

The ashes that are left behind,
Do serve to put us all in mind,
That unto dust,
Return we must.
Think on this,--when you smoke tobacco.

The smoke that doth so high ascend,
Shows that our life must have an end;
The vapours' gone,
Man's life is done.
Think on this,--when you smoke tobacco.

No. 96 FAIR SUSAN

C.J.S.

[Music]

Fair Susan slumbered in shady bower,
Safe hid, she thought, from every eye;
Nor dreamed she in that tranquil hour
Her own true love was passing by.

He gazed in rapture upon her beauty,
Sleep did her charms but more reveal;
He deemed it sure a lover's duty
From those sweet lips a kiss to steal.

In shame and anger poor Susan started,
With eyes aflame she bade him go;
"Return no more!--for ever parted;
Cruel and base to use me so!"

"By too much love I have offended,
Forgive me if I cause you pain;
But if indeed our love be ended,
Pray give me back my kiss again."

No. 97 THE FALSE BRIDE

H.F.S.

[Music]

I courted a maiden both buxom and gay,
Unheeding what people against her did say,
I thought her as constant and true as the day.
But now she is going to be married.

O when to the church I my fair love saw go,
I followed her up with a heart full of woe,
And eyes that with tears of grief did o'erflow,
To see how my suit had miscarried.

O when in the chancel I saw my love stan',
With ring on her finger, and true love in han',
I thought that for certain 'twas not the right man,
Although 'twas the man she was taking.

O when I my fair love saw sit in her seat
I sat myself by her, but nothing could eat;
Her company, thought I, was better than meat,
Although my heart sorely was aching.

O woe be the day that I courted the maid,
That ever I trusted a word that she said,
That with her I wander'd along the green glade,
Accurs'd be the day that I met her.

O make me a grave that is long, wide and deep,
And cover me over with flowers so sweet,
That there I may lie, and may take my last sleep;
For that is the way to forget her.

No. 98 THE BARLEY STRAW

H.F.S.

[Music]

As Jan was hurrying down the glade,
He met his sweetheart Kit;
"O whither so fast?" the maiden ask'd,
"Let's bide and talk a bit."
"I'm going to the barn, and if you'll come,
And help me thresh the stro',
That task complete, why then my sweet,
A ramble we will go."

She gave consent, to work they went,
As if 'twere only play;
The flail he plied, whilst Kit untied,
The sheaves, and cleared away.
O willing hands made labour light,
And 'ere the sun was low,
With arms entwined, these lovers kind,
Did down the vallies go.

Said Jan, "Thou art a helpful lass,
Wilt thou be mine for life?"
"For sure!" she said. To church they sped,
And soon were man and wife.
A lesson then, for all young men
Who would a courting go,
Your sweetheart ask to share your task,
And thresh the Barley Stro'.

Now many a year, this couple dear,
They lived in harmony;
And children had, both lass and lad,
I think 'twas thirty-three.
The sons so hale did wield the flail,
And like their father grow;
The maidens sweet, like mother were neat:
And clean as the Barley Stro'.

No. 99 DEATH AND THE LADY

C.J.S.

[Music]

As I walked out one day, one day,
All in the merry month of May,
When lambs did skip and thrushes sing,
And ev'ry bush with buds did spring.

I met an old man by the way,
His head was bald, his beard was grey,
His coat was of the Myrtle-green,
But underneath his ribs were seen.

He in his hand a glass did hold,
He shook as one that shakes with cold.
I asked of him what was his name,
And what strange place from which he came.

"My name is Death, fair maiden, see
Lords, Dukes and Squires bow down to me;
For of the Branchy Tree[27] am I
And you, fair maid, with me must hie."

"I'll give you gold, if me you'll spare,
I'll give you costly robes to wear!"
"O no, sweet maid, make no delay
Your sand is run, you must away!"

Alas! alack! the fair maid died,
And these the last sad words she cried:
"Here lies a poor, distressed maid,
By Death--and Death alone betrayed."

[Footnote 27: What is meant by the "Branchy Tree" I do not know, but so the words run in all versions.]

No. 100 BOTH SEXES GIVE EAR

H.F.S.

[Music]

Both sexes give ear to my fancy,
In praise of sweet woman I sing,
Confined not to Doll, Sue, or Nancy,
The mate of the beggar or king.
When Adam was first a-created,
And lord of the universe crown'd,
His happiness was not completed,
Until that a helpmate was found.

A garden was planted by Nature,
Man could not produce in his life,
But no rest had he till his Creator
Discovered he wanted a wife.
He had horses and foxes for hunting
Which most men love dearly as life,
No relishsome food was a wanting
But still--he was short of a wife.

As Adam was resting in slumber,
He lost a small rib from his side,
And when he awoke--'twas in wonder,
To see a most beautiful bride.
In transport he gazèd upon her,
His happiness now was complete.
He praisèd the bountiful Donor,
Who to him had given a mate.

She was not taken out of his head, sir,
To rule and to triumph in man.
Nor was she took out of his foot, sir,
By him to be trampled upon.
But she was took out of his side, sir,
His equal co-partner to be;
So, united is man with his bride, sir,
Yet man is the top of the tree.

Then let not the fair be despisèd
By man, as she's part of himself.
Let woman by man be a-prizèd
As more than the world full of wealth.
A man without woman's a beggar,
Tho' by him the world were possess'd
But a beggar that's got a good woman
With more than the world is he bless'd.

No. 101 I RODE MY LITTLE HORSE

F.W.B.

[Music]

I rode my little horse, from London town I came,
I rode into the country, to seek myself a dame,
And if I meet a pretty maid, be sure I'll kiss her then;
And swear that I will marry her--but will not tell her _when_!

I found a buxom widow, with many tons of gold,
I lived upon her fortune, as long as it would hold.
Of pounds I took five hundred, bestrode my horse, and then,
I promised I would marry her--but never told her _when_!

A vintner had a daughter, the Golden Sun his sign,
I tarried at his tavern, I drank his choicest wine;
I drank out all his cellar, bestrode my horse, and then,
I said the maid I'd marry,--but never told him _when_!

The guineas are expended, the wine is also spent;
The widow and the maiden, they languish and lament.
And if they come to seek me, I'll pack them back again,
With promises of marriage,--but never tell them _when_.

My little horse I mounted, the world that I might see,
I found a pretty maiden--as poor as poor could be.
My little horse neglected, to London ran away,
I asked if she would marry, and bade her name the day.

No. 102 AMONG THE NEW-MOWN HAY

C.J.S.

[Music]

As I walked out one morn betime,
To view the fields in May, Sir,
There I espied a fair sweet maid,
Among the new-mown hay, Sir.
Among the new-mown hay.

I said: 'Good morning, pretty maid,
How come you here so soon, say?'
'To keep my father's sheep,' she said,
'A thing that must be done, aye!
Among the new-mown hay.

'While they be feeding mid the dew,
To pass the time away, Sir!
I sit me down to knit and sew,
Among the new-mown hay, Sir!
Among the new-mown hay.'

I ask'd if she would wed with me,
All on that sunny day, Sir!
The answer that she gave to me
Was surely not a nay, Sir!
Among the new-mown hay.

Then to the church we sped with speed
And Hymen join'd our hands, Sir!
No more the ewes and lambs she'll feed
Since she did make her answer,
Among the new-mown hay.

A lord I be, a lady she,
To town we sped straightway, Sir!
To bless the day, we both agree,
We met among the hay, Sir!
Among the new-mown hay.

No. 103 I'LL BUILD MYSELF A GALLANT SHIP

(Solo or Quartette)

F.W.B.

[Music]

I'll build myself a gallant ship,
A ship of noble fame;
And four and twenty mariners,
Shall box and man the same;
And I will stand, with helm in hand,
To urge them o'er the main.

No scarf shall o'er my shoulders go,
I will not comb my hair;
The pale moonlight, the candle bright
Shall neither tell I'm fair.
Beside the mast I stand so fast,
Unresting in despair.

The rain may beat, and round my feet
The waters wash and foam,
O thou North wind lag not behind
But bear me far from home!
My hands I wring, and sobbing sing,
As over seas I roam.

The moon so pale shall light my sail,
As o'er the sea I fly,
To where afar the Eastern star
Is twinkling in the sky.
I would I were with my love fair,
Ere ever my love die!

No. 104 COLLY, MY COW

C.J.S.

[Music]

A story, a story, I'll tell you just now,
It's all about killing of Colly, my cow.
Ah! my pretty Colly, poor Colly, my cow!
Poor Colly will give no more milk to me now.
And that is the way my fortune doth go!

Says little Tom Dicker, Pray what do you mean,
By killing your Colly when she was so lean?
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

Then cometh the Tripeman so trim and so neat,
He bids me three ha'pence for belly and feet;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

Then cometh the Tanner with sword at his side,
He bids me three shillings for Colly, her hide;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

Then cometh the Horner who roguery scorns,
He bids me three ha'pence for Colly, her horns;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

The skin of my Colly was softer than silk,
And three times a day did my Colly give milk;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

Here's an end to my Colly, she's gone past recall,
I have sold my poor Colly, hide, horns, feet and all.
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

Three shillings and three pence are all for my pains,
I've lost my poor Colly, my milk and my gains.
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

No. 105 WITHIN A GARDEN

H.F.S.

[Music]

Within a garden a maiden lingered,
When soft the shades of evening fell,
Expecting, fearing,
A footstep hearing,
Her love appearing,
To say farewell.

With sighs and sorrow their vows they plighted
One more embrace, one last adieu;
Tho' seas divide, love,
In this confide, love,
Whate'er betide, love,
To thee I'm true.

Long years are over, and still the maiden
Seeks oft at eve the trysting tree;
Her promise keeping,
And, faithful, weeping,
Her lost love sleeping
Across the sea.

No. 106 THE BONNY BIRD

C.J.S.

[Music]

I once lov'd a bird, and a bonny bird,
And I thought to make him my own;
But he loves a she far better than me,
And has taken his flight and is flown.

I once lov'd a bird, and a bonny bird,
O I lovèd I vow and protest.
I lovèd him well, and O! so very well
I built him a nest in my breast.

O since he is gone, I will let him alone,
Although that I ache and I burn.
If he loves a she far better than me,
Then I hope he will not return.

I lookèd to East and I lookèd to West
The weather was hot and was calm.
And then I did spy my own bonny bird
Was perch'd on another maid's arm.

Then up the green valley and down the green grove,
As one distracted in mind,
With whoop and halloo, in sorrow I rove
No other such bird will I find.

Now if she have gotten my bonny bird,
I never shall get him again.
But though I have lost him for ever a day,
I'll think of him still in my pain.

No. 107 THE LADY AND PRENTICE

C.J.S.

[Music]

'Twas of a brisk young lady
And of a 'prentice boy.
They courted one another,
And he was all her joy;
The 'prentice boy was banish'd
Unto a foreign shore,
And sad at heart he fancied
He'd never see her more.

There came that way a squire
A man of high degree,
Said he: 'I'll give you wages
Be servant unto me.'
But oh! the fair young lady
She piteously did cry
All for the love she bore him
She thought that she must die.

Now first he was in stable,
With horses at the stall,
And then advanced to table,
And servèd in the hall.
And next he was advancèd
As butler to the same
And for his good behaviour
A steward last became.

O then into a lottery
He put his money down,
He drew a prize and gainèd
Full twenty thousand pound.
'Farewell, farewell my master!
Farewell, my lady kind!
For I must seek my own true love
That tarrieth behind.'

He dress'd himself in velvet,
In gold and silver braid;
And so returned to England
To his true love with speed.
And when he did espy her
T'embrace her did essay,
But from his arms she started
And frightened drew away.

'Your gold and shining silver
Your velvets I defy
I love a humble 'prentice
I'll love him till I die.'
'O lady fair! my only,
Return unto my arms.
I many years was banish'd
And might not see your charms.'

Then closely she observed him,
And knew him now again.
Her smiles dispelled her fears
As sun disperseth rain.
With kisses out of measure
She clasped him to her heart,
'O now we meet together,
We never more shall, part.'

No. 108 PAUL JONES

C.J.S.

[Music]

An American frigate, the "Richard" by name,
Mounted guns forty four and from New York she came,
To cruise in the channel of old English fame,
With a noble commander, Paul Jones was his name.

We had not cruised long ere two sails we espies,
A large forty four, and a twenty likewise.
Some fifty bright shippers, well loaden with store,
And the convoy stood in for the old Yorkshire shore.

['Bout twelve was the hour when we came alongside,
With long speaking trumpet: 'Whence came you?' he cried.
'Ho! answer me quickly, I'll hail you no more,
Or a thundering broadside I'll into you pour.'][28]

We fought them four glasses, four glasses so hot,
Till forty bold seamen lay dead on the spot.
And fifty five wounded lay drenched in their gore,
While loudly the cannons of Paul Jones did roar.

[Our carpenter frightened, to Paul Jones he came,
Our ship she leaks water, is likewise aflame.
Paul Jones he made answer, thus to him replied,
'If we can do no better, we'll sink alongside.'][29]

The Serapis wore round, our vessel to rake
O then the proud hearts of the English did ache.
The shot flew so frequent, so fierce and so fast,
That the bold British colours were haul'd down at last.

Oh! now my brave boys, we have taken a prize,
A large forty four, and a twenty likewise.
God help the poor mothers, bereavèd who weep
For the loss of their sons in the unfathom'd deep.

[Footnote 28: May be omitted when singing.]

[Footnote 29: May be omitted when singing.]

No. 109 THE MERRY HAYMAKERS

H.F.S.

[Music]

The golden sun is shining bright,
The dew is off the field;
To us it is our main delight,
The fork and rake to wield.
The pipe and tabor both shall play,
The viols loudly ring,
From morn till eve each summer day,
As we go hay-making.
CHORUS: The pipe and tabor, &c.

As we my boys hay-making go,
All in the month of June,
Both Tom and Bet, and Jess and Joe
Their happy hearts in tune.
O up come lusty Jack and Will,
With pitchfork and with rake,
And up come dainty Doll and Jill,
The sweet, sweet hay to make.
CHORUS: The pipe and tabor, &c.

O when the haysel all is done,
Then in the arish grass,
The lads shall have their fill of fun,
Each dancing with his lass.
The good old farmer and his wife,
Shall bring the best of cheer,
I would it were, aye, odds my life!
Hay-making all the year.
CHORUS: The pipe and tabor, &c.

No. 110 IN BIBBERLEY TOWN

C.J.S.

[Music]

In Bibberley town a maid did dwell,
A buxom lass, as I've heard tell;
As straight as a wand, just twenty two,
And many a bachelor had her in view.
Ri fal de ral diddle, ri fal de ral dee,
What ups and downs in the world there be!

This maid so beautiful fair and free,
Was sought by a squire of high degree;
He courted her honestly for his wife,
But she couldn't venture so high in life.
Ri fal de ral &c.

A tinker there came to mend the kettle,
She fell in love with the man of metal;
His songs and his jokes won her heart and her hand,
And she promised with him in the church to stand.
Ri fal de ral &c.

They wed, and this jovial mender of pots
Proved only a brute and the prince of sots;
He beat her, he starved her, she gave him the slip,
And back to Bibberley town did trip.
Ri fal de ral &c.

She found that the Squire her former flame
Had wooed and married a wealthy dame;
But a vacant place in the house she took,
And, instead of his wife, she became his cook.
Ri fal de ral diddle, ri fal de ral dee;
What ups and downs in the world there be!

No. 111 THE MARIGOLD

C.J.S.

[Music]

'Twas East North East, so near the line
So near as we could lie,
We'd had scarcely left our loading port,
'Ere ten sail of Turks we spy.
"Come strike your colours ye English dogs,
Strike colours presently,
Come strike your colours ye English dogs,
Or they shall be struck by we."

Our captain being a valiant man,
On quarterdeck did stand,
"It ne'er shall be said that we did run
While we have aboard a hand."
O! then out spake our boatswain bold,
To the gunner then spake he,
"Come plant your guns while they are cold
Both powder and shot are free."

Broadside to broadside we return'd
From morn till day was done
Till three we sank, and three we burn'd
And three away did run,
Till three we sank, and three we burn'd
And three did sail away;
And one we brought to merry England
To show we'd won the day.

Now if you'd know our goodly ship
And know our captain's name;
Sir Thomas Merrifield captain was
Of the Marigold, ship of fame.
A gallant man Sir Thomas was
Of famous Bristow town
A gallant crew were we aboard
We gained us great renown.

No. 112 ARTHUR LE BRIDE

C.J.S.

[Music]

I once had a cousin called Arthur Le Bride,
And he and I wandered adown the sea side,
For our pleasure and pastime a watching the tide;
O the weather was pleasant and charming.

So gaily and gallant we went on a tramp,
We met Sergeant Napier and Corp'ral Demant,
And the neat little drummer that tended the camp,
To beat the row-dow in the morning.

Good morning young fellows, the sergeant did cry,
And the same to you sergeant we made a reply,
There was nothing more spoken, we made to pass by.
'Twas all on a Christmas day morning.

Come! come my fine fellows, I pray you enlist,
Ten guineas in gold I will slap in your fist,
And a crown in the bargain to kick up a dust,
For to drink the king's health in the morning.

5[30]

O, no! Mr. Sergeant, we are not for sale
We make no such bargain--your bribe won't avail,
Not tired of our country we care not to sail,
Tho' your offers look pleasant and charming.

6[31]

Hah! if you insult me, without other words
I swear by the king we will draw out our swords,
And thrust thro' your bodies, as strength us affords,
And leave you without further warning.

We beat the bold drummer as flat as his shoe,
We made a football of his row-de-dow-do,
And the sergeant and corporal, knocked down the two,
O we were the boys in the morning.

The two little weapons that hung at their side,
As we trotted away we threw into the tide,
May old Harry be with you, said Arthur Le Bride
For staying our walk in the morning.

[Footnote 30: May be omitted in singing.]

[Footnote 31: May be omitted in singing.]

No. 113 THE KEEPER

C.J.S.

[Music]

O there was a keeper, a shooting did go,
And under his arm he did carry a bow,
And that for to bring down the buck and the doe;
All in the green forest, the forest so green,
Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen.

The very first doe that he shot at he miss'd,
The second escaped by the breadth of his fist.
The third doe was young, so he caught her and kiss'd;
All in the green forest, the forest so green,
Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen.

"My fair pretty doe, you no longer shall roam,
For certainly henceforth with me you shall come,
To tarry securely in my little home;
All in the green forest, the forest so green,
Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen.

"Aside I will cast now my billets and bow,
I'll tarry at home with my own pretty doe,
As proud as a king of his sceptre, I trow;
All in the green forest, the forest so green,
Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen."

No. 114 THE QUEEN OF HEARTS

C.J.S.

[Music]

To the Queen of Hearts he's the Ace of sorrow,
He is here to-day, he is gone to-morrow;
Young men are plenty, but sweet-hearts few,
If my love leave me, what shall I do?

When my love comes in I gaze not around,
When my love goes out, I fall in a swound;
To meet is pleasure, to part is sorrow,
He is here to-day, he is gone to-morrow.

Had I the store in yonder mountain,
Where gold and silver is had for counting,
I could not count, for the thought of thee,
My eyes so full that I could not see.

I love my father, I love my mother,
I love my sister, I love my brother;
I love my friends, my relations too,
But I'd leave them all for the love of you.

My father left me both house and land,
And servants many at my command;
At my commandment they ne'er shall be,
I'll forsake them all for to follow thee.

An Ace of sorrow to the Queen of Hearts,
O how my bosom bleeds and smarts;
Young men are plenty, but sweet-hearts few,
If my love leave me, what shall I do?

No. 115 THE OWL

C.J.S.

[Music]

Of all the birds that ever I see,
The owl is the fairest in her degree.
For all the day long she sits in a tree,
And when the night cometh, away flies she.
To-whit! To-who! says she, To-who!
Cinamon, ginger, nutmegs and cloves,
And brandy gave me my jolly red nose.

The lark in the morn ascendeth on high
And leaves the poor owl to sob and to sigh;
And all the day long, the owl is asleep,
While little birds blithely are singing, cheep! cheep!
To-whit! To-who! says she, To-who!
Cinamon, ginger, &c.

There's many a brave bird boasteth awhile,
And proves himself great, let Providence smile,
Be hills and be vallies all covered with snow,
The poor owl will shiver and mock with Ho! Ho!
To-whit! To-who! says she, To-who!
Cinamon, ginger, &c.

No. 116 MY MOTHER DID SO BEFORE ME

C.J.S.

[Music]

I am a brisk and bonny lass,
A little over twenty.
And by my comely air and dress,
Of sweethearts I've got plenty.
But I'll beware of wedlock's snare,
Tho' dying swains adore me,
The men I'll tease, myself to please,
My mother did so before me.

With fine brocade and diamonds bright,
Like merry Spring delighting,
My heart, my humours all delight,
For my sweet face's inviting.
I take delight, both day and night,
To be talked of in story.
I'll have it said: Here shines a maid!
My mother did so before me.

To parks and plays I often go,
I'll waste each leasure hour;
I'll walk and talk with every beau,
And make them feel my power.
If e'er a spark should fire my heart,
From one who does adore me,
I'll wed and kiss, in married bliss,
My mother did so before me.

So well I'll manage when I'm wed,
My husband to perfection,
And as good wives have always said,
Keep husbands in subjection.
No snarling fool me e'er shall rule,
Nor e'er eclipse my glory,
I'll let him see, mistress I'll be,
My mother did so before me.

No. 117 A WEEK'S WORK WELL DONE

C.J.S.

[Music]

On Monday morn I married a wife,
I thought to live a sober life.
As it fell out I were better dead,
Than mark the time when I was wed.
Laddy-heigh-ho! Laddy-heigh-ho!
Fal-de-ral-li-do! Laddy-heigh-ho!

On Tuesday morning to my surprise,
A little before the sun did rise,
She rattled her clapper, and scolded more,
Than ever I heard in my life before.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.

On Wednesday morning I went to the wood,
I thought to do my wife some good.
I cut me a twig of holly green,
I trust the toughest I'd ever seen.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.

I hung the stick up well to dry,
I thought on Thursday it to try,
I laid it about her head and back,
Before my twig began to crack.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.

On Friday morning to my surprise,
A little before the sun did rise,
She rattled her clapper in scolding tone,
I turn'd my back and left her alone.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.

On Saturday morn, as I may say,
As she on her pillow consulting lay,
A Bogie arrived in fume and flame,
And carried her off both blind and lame.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.

On Sunday, neighbours, I dine without
A scolding wife and a brawling rout;
Enjoy my bottle, and my best friend,
And surely this is a brave week's end.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.

No. 118 THE OLD MAN CAN'T KEEP HIS WIFE AT HOME

C.J.S.

[Music]

The old man can't keep his wife at home,
She dearly loves abroad to roam,
She will but eat the choicest meat,
And leave th'old man the bone.
Herself must have good cheer,
Herself drink humming beer.
A merry life lives she,
For her heart is full of glee.
CHORUS: The old man can't keep his wife at home,
She dearly loves abroad to roam, &c.

The old man's wife went out to dine,
And left him tuck'd in bed at home.
She dressed so fine, drank red red wine,
Her face with pleasure shone.
She capered and she danc'd,
She like an ostrich pranc'd,
And sang There's none so free,
As old men's wives may be.
CHORUS: The old man can't keep his wife at home,
She dearly loves abroad to roam, &c.

The old man began to crawl and cough'd;
Above the door he set a stone,
Then sat and quaff'd thin beer and laugh'd,
Till spasms made him groan.
His wife so late came home,
Then clatter'd down the stone,
It fell upon her head,
It knocked her flat and dead.
CHORUS: The old man don't keep a wife at home,
Not one who dearly loves to roam.
Odds bobs, of strife, and gadding wife
The old man now has none.

No. 119 SWEET FAREWELL

C.J.S.

[Music]

Will by Mary sad reposes
On a bank of prim-a-roses.
Sore is William's heart at leaving,
Tears that flow tell Mary's grieving,
Sweet, Farewell! Dearest, farewell, farewell!
I'm in the marching order.

Hark! I hear the Colonel crying,
Drums are beating, colours flying.
Colours flying, drums are beating,
Boys! advance, there's no retreating
Sweet, farewell! &c.

Gallant boys! be stiff and steady,
Each man have his flint-lock ready!
Each man have his flask and powder!
And his fire stock o'er his shoulder!
Sweet, farewell! &c.

Mary said, Do not bereave me!
Do not break my heart and leave me!
If you do, I will torment you,
When I'm dead, my ghost will ha'nt you
Sweet, farewell! &c.

Nay, said William, my dear Mary
I with you nowise can tarry.
Duty calls--that naught can alter
At its summons none must falter.
Sweet, farewell! &c.

No. 120 OLD ADAM THE POACHER

C.J.S.

[Music]

Old Adam was a poacher,
Went out one day at Fall,
To catch a hare for roasting
And eating bones and all,
In the sun
Expecting fun
Old Adam smiling lay.
O hare it is good eating,
Thus did old Adam say.
Old Adam was a poacher,
Went out one day at Fall,
To catch a hare for roasting,
And eating, bones and all.

A keeper that was passing,
Peer'd slyly through the brake
Saw Adam with his springle;
Proceeded both to take.
Hare not his'n,
So in prison
Old Adam groaning lay.
O hare it is good eating
But not for him to-day,
Old Adam was a poacher
Went out one day at Fall
Went out that morning looking big
Returnèd, looking small.

No. 121 THE EVENING PRAYER

C.J.S.

[Music]

Matthew, Mark and Luke and John
Bless the bed that I lie on.
Four angels to my bed
Two to bottom, two to head,
Two to hear me when I pray,
Two to bear my soul away.

Monday morn the week begin,
Christ deliver our souls from sin.
Tuesday morn, nor curse nor swear,
Christes Body that will tear.
Wednesday, middle of the week,
Woe to the soul Christ does not seek.

Thursday morn, Saint Peter wrote
Joy to the soul that heaven hath bote,
Friday Christ died on the tree
To save other men as well as me.
Saturday, sure, the evening dead,
Sunday morn, the Book's outspread.

God is the branch and I the flower,
Pray God send me a blessed hour.
I go to bed, some sleep to take,
The Lord, he knows if I shall wake.
Sleep I ever, sleep I never,
God receive my soul for ever.

NOTES ON THE SONGS

1. BY CHANCE IT WAS. Music and words dictated by James Parsons, hedger, Lew Down; he had learned it from his father, "The Singing Machine."

A second version of the melody was obtained from Bruce Tyndall, Esq., of Exmouth, who had learned it from a Devonshire nurse in 1839 or 1840. The melody was but a variant. It had lost the E[natural] that comes in so pleasantly.

The tune was certainly originally in the Dorian mode, the E[flat] being an alteration of a modern singer. We did not, however, feel justified in restoring the air to its early form, as we had no authority for so doing.

The words of the song are to be found in a collection of early ballad books in the British Museum, entitled "The Court of Apollo." There it consists of six verses, the first three of which are almost word for word the same as ours. In "The Songster's Favourite Companion," a later collection, the same song occurs. There it is in three verses only, and in a very corrupt form.

We are inclined to think that the song dates from the time of James I. or Charles I.

2. THE HUNTING OF ARSCOTT OF TETCOTT. This song, once vastly popular in North Devon, and at all hunting dinners, is now nearly forgotten. The words have been published in "John Arscott of Tetcott" by Luke, Plymouth, N.D. A great many variations of the text exist. An early copy, dating from the end of the 18th century, was supplied me by R. Kelly, Esq., of Kelly; another by a gentleman, now dead, in his grandmother's handwriting (1820), with explanatory notes. The date given in the song varies; sometimes it is set down as 1752, sometimes as 1772.

John Arscott, the last of his race, died in 1788. The "Sons of the Blue" are taken to have been Sir John Molesworth of Pencarrow, Bart., William Morshead of Blisland, and Braddon Clode of Skisdon. But neither Sir John Molesworth nor Mr. Morshead was, as it happens, a naval man. If the date were either 1652 or 1672, it would fit John Arscott of Tetcott, who died in 1708, and Sir John Molesworth of Pencarrow, who was Vice-admiral of Cornwall; and the "Sons of the Blue" would be Hender, Sparke, and John, sons of Sir John. The second John Molesworth married Jane, daughter of John Arscott of Tetcott, in 1704. It seems probable, accordingly, that the song belonged originally to the elder John Arscott, and was adapted a century later to the last John Arscott. The date is not given with precision in the song; it is left vague as to the century--"In the year '52."

The author of the version of the song as now sung is said to have been one Dogget, who was wont to run after the foxhounds of the last Arscott. He probably followed the habit of all rural bards of adapting an earlier ballad to his purpose, and spoiling it in so doing. I think this, because along with much wretched stuff there occur traces of something better, and smacking of an earlier period. As Dogget's doggerel has been printed, and as I have taken down a dozen variants, I have retained only what I deemed worthy of retention, and have entirely recast the conclusion of the song.

John Arscott is still believed to hunt the country, and there are men alive who declare positively that they have seen him and his hounds go by, and have heard the winding of his horn, at night, in the park at Tetcott.

Mr. Frank Abbott, gamekeeper at Pencarrow, but born at Tetcott, informed me, concerning Dogget: "Once they unkennelled in the immediate neighbourhood of Tetcott, and killed at Hatherleigh. This runner was in at the death, as was his wont. John Arscott ordered him a bed at Hatherleigh, but to his astonishment, when he returned to Tetcott, his wife told him all the particulars of the run. 'Then,' said Arscott, 'this must be the doing of none other than Dogget; where is he?' Dogget was soon found in the servants' hall, drinking ale, having outstripped his master and run all the way home."

In the MS. copy of 1820, the names of the "Sons of the Blue" were Bob (Robt. Dennis of S. Breock), Bill (Bill Tickell), and Britannia (Sir J. Molesworth). The tune, which is in the Æolian mode, was obtained through the assistance of Mr. W.C. Richards, schoolmaster at Tetcott. We also had it from John Benney, labourer, Menheniot.

Mr. Richards writes:--"This song is sung annually at the Rent-audit of the Molesworth estate at Tetcott. Thirty years ago an old man sang it, and the version I send you is as near the original, as sung by him, as can be secured. Workmen on the estate often hum the air, and always sing it at their annual treats." The Arscott property at Tetcott passed by inheritance to the Molesworths.

Half of the tune was employed by D'Urfey, a Devonshire man, in his "Pills to Purge Melancholy," to the words, "Dear Catholic Brother" (vi. p. 277, ed. 1719-20). From D'Urfey it passed into the "Musical Miscellany," 1731, vi. p. 171, to the words, "Come take up your Burden, ye Dogs, and away." From England the same half-tune was carried into Wales, and Jones, in his "Musical Relicks of the Welsh Bards," 1794, i. p. 129, gives it set to the words of "Difarwch gwyn Dyfl."

As Benny's variant is interesting, I give it here--

[Music: And sing Fol-de-rol.]

3. UPON A SUNDAY MORNING. The melody taken down from Robert Hard, South Brent. This is the song to which reference has been made in the Introduction. It is not a genuine folk melody, but it is an interesting example of the way in which the folk muse reshapes an air.

Hard sang the words of Charles Swan--

"'Twas on a Sunday morning, before the bells did peal,
A note came through the window, with Cupid as the seal."

These words were set to music by Francis Mori in 1853. I give Mori's tune, and advise that with it should be compared Hard's variation of it. I have written fresh words to this variation--

[Music: F. Mori.]

4. THE TREES THEY ARE SO HIGH. Words and melody taken down in 1888 first from James Parsons, then from Matthew Baker. Again in 1891 from Richard Broad, aged 71, of Herodsfoot, near S. Keyne, Cornwall. Again, the words, to a different air, from Roger Hannaford. Another version from William Aggett, a paralysed labourer of 70 years, at Chagford. Mr. Sharp has also obtained it in Somersetshire. A fragment was sung at the Folk-Song Competition at Frome in April 1904. Mr. Kidson has noted a version in Yorkshire, Miss Broadwood another in Surrey, see _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 214. Apparently there exist two distinct variants of the ballad, each to its proper melody.

Johnson, in his "Museum," professed to give a Scottish version--

"O Lady Mary Ann looks owre the Castle wa',
She saw three bonny boys playing at the ba',
The youngest he was the flower among them a';
My bonny laddie's young, but he's growing yet."

But of his version only three of the stanzas are genuine, and they are inverted; the rest are a modern composition.

A more genuine Scottish form is in Maidment's "North Country Garland," Edinburgh, 1874; but there the young man is fictitiously converted into a Laird of Craigstoun. It begins--

"Father, said she, you have done me wrong,
For ye have married me on a childe young man,
And my bonny love is long
Agrowing, growing, deary,
Growing, growing, said the bonny maid."

But the most genuine form is on an Aberdeen Broadside, B.M., 1871, f. This, the real Scottish ballad, has verses not in the English, and the English ballad has a verse or two not in the Scottish.

I have received an Irish version as sung in Co. Tipperary; it is in six verses, but that about the "Trees so High" is lacking. The rhyme is more correct than that of any of the printed versions, and the lines run in triplets. One verse is--

"O Father, dear Father, I'll tell you what we'll do,
We'll send him off to college for another year or two,
And we'll tie round his college cap a ribbon of the blue,
To let the maidens know he is married."

In one of the versions I have taken down (Hannaford's and Aggett's) there were traces of the triplet very distinct, and the tune was akin to the Irish melody sent me, as sung by Mary O'Bryan, Cahir, Tipperary. Portions of the ballad have been forced into that of "The Cruel Mother" in Motherwell's MS., Child's "British and Scottish Ballads," i. p. 223. In this a mother gives birth to three sons at once and murders them; but after they are murdered--

"She lookit over her father's wa',
And saw three bonnie boys playing at the ba'."

Our melody is in the Phrygian mode, a scale which is extremely scarce in English folk-song. The only other example we know is in Ducoudray's book of the "Folk Melodies of Brittany."

The Scotch have two airs, one in Johnson's "Museum," the other in "The British Minstrel," Glasgow, 1844, vol. ii. p. 36, both totally distinct from ours.

That the ballad is English and not originally Scotch is probable, for Fletcher quotes it in "The Two Noble Kinsmen," 1634. He makes the crazy jailer's daughter sing us a snatch of an old ballad--

"For I'll cut my green coat, a foot above my knee,
And I'll clip my yellow locks, an inch below my eye,
Hey ninny, ninny, ninny;
He's buy me a white cut (stick) forth for to ride,
And I'll go seek him, through the world that is so wide,
Hey ninny, ninny, ninny."

In the ballad as taken down from Aggett--

"I'll cut my yellow hair away by the root,
And I will clothe myself all in a boy's suit,
And to the college high, I will go afoot."

I have had versions also from Mary Langworthy, Stoke Flemming, in the Hypodorian mode, and from W.S. Vance, Penarth, as sung by an old woman at Padstow in 1863, now dead.

Mr. Sharp gives a version in "Folk Songs from Somerset," No. 15.

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Songs of the WestChapter VIII: Part II: C.j.s (2)

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