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[Transcriber's Note: Printer errors as well as inconsistencies in
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Inconsistencies in song titles as listed in the Contents and the
Alphabetical Index have been left as they appear in the original.]
SONGS OF THE WEST
FOLK SONGS OF DEVON & CORNWALL
COLLECTED FROM THE MOUTHS OF THE PEOPLE
BY
S. BARING-GOULD, M.A.
H. FLEETWOOD SHEPPARD, M.A.
AND
F.W. BUSSELL, MUS. DOC. D.D.
UNDER THE MUSICAL EDITORSHIP OF
CECIL J. SHARP
PRINCIPAL OF THE HAMPSTEAD CONSERVATOIRE
FIFTH EDITION IN ONE VOLUME
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_Originally issued in Four Parts in 1890_
_First Published in One Volume in 1892_
_New and Revised Edition October 1905_
_Reprinted April 1913_
TO
THE MEMORY OF
THE LATE
D. RADFORD, Esq., J.P.,
OF MOUNT TAVY,
AT WHOSE HOSPITABLE TABLE THE
MAKING OF THIS COLLECTION
WAS FIRST PLANNED
ALSO
TO THAT OF
THE REV. H. FLEETWOOD SHEPPARD, M.A.,
MY FELLOW WORKER IN THIS FIELD FOR TWELVE YEARS
CONTENTS
PREFACE--INTRODUCTION.
1. BY CHANCE IT WAS.
2. THE HUNTING OF ARSCOTT OF TETCOTT.
3. UPON A SUNDAY MORNING.
4. THE TREES THEY ARE SO HIGH.
5. PARSON HOGG.
6. COLD BLOWS THE WIND.
7. THE SPRIG OF THYME.
8. ROVING JACK THE JOURNEYMAN.
9. BRIXHAM TOWN.
10. GREEN BROOM.
11. AS JOHNNY WALKED OUT.
12. THE MILLER AND HIS SONS.
13. ORMOND THE BRAVE.
14. JOHN BARLEYCORN.
15. SWEET NIGHTINGALE.
16. WIDDECOMBE FAIR.
17. YE MAIDENS PRETTY.
18. THE SILLY OLD MAN.
19. THE MONTHS OF THE YEAR.
20. THE CHIMNEY SWEEP.
21. THE SAUCY SAILOR.
22. BLUE MUSLIN.
23. THE DEATH OF PARKER.
24. THE HELSTON FURRY DANCE.
25. BLOW AWAY YE MORNING BREEZES.
26. THE HEARTY GOOD FELLOW.
27. THE BONNY BUNCH OF ROSES.
28. THE LAST OF THE SINGERS.
29. THE TYTHE PIG.
30. OLD WICHET.
31. JAN'S COURTSHIP.
32. THE DROWNED LOVER.
33. CHILDE THE HUNTER.
34. THE COTTAGE WELL THATCH'D WITH STRAW.
35. CICELY SWEET.
36. A SWEET PRETTY MAIDEN SAT UNDER A TREE.
37. THE WHITE COCKADE.
38. THE SAILOR'S FAREWELL.
39. A MAIDEN SAT A WEEPING.
40. THE BLUE KERCHIEF.
41. COME TO MY WINDOW.
42. TOMMY A LYNN.
43. THE GREEN BUSHES.
44. THE BROKEN TOKEN.
45. THE MOLE CATCHER.
46. THE KEENLY LODE.
47. MAY-DAY CAROL.
48. THE LOVER'S TASKS.
49. LULLABYE.
50. THE GIPSY COUNTESS. _In Two Parts._
51. THE GREY MARE.
52. THE WRECK OFF SCILLY.
53. HENRY MARTYN.
54. PLYMOUTH SOUND.
55. THE FOX.
56. FURZE BLOOM.
57. THE OXEN PLOUGHING.
58. FLORA, THE LILY OF THE WEST. _In F_ [Transcriber's Note: D minor.]
" " " " " " _In G_
60. FAIR LADY PITY ME.
61. THE PAINFUL PLOUGH.
62. AT THE SETTING OF THE SUN.
63. ALL JOLLY FELLOWS THAT FOLLOW THE PLOUGH.
64. THE GOLDEN VANITY.
65. THE BOLD DRAGOON.
66. TRINITY SUNDAY.
67. THE BLUE FLAME.
68. STRAWBERRY FAIR.
69. THE COUNTRY FARMER'S SON.
70. THE HOSTESS' DAUGHTER.
71. THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK.
72. THE SONG OF THE MOOR.
73. ON A MAY MORNING SO EARLY.
74. THE SPOTTED COW.
75. THREE JOVIAL WELSHMEN.
76. WELL MET, WELL MET, MY OWN TRUE LOVE.
77. POOR OLD HORSE.
78. THE DILLY SONG.
79. A COUNTRY DANCE.
80. CONSTANT JOHNNY.
81. THE DUKE'S HUNT.
82. THE BELL-RINGING.
83. A NUTTING WE WILL GO.
84. DOWN BY A RIVER-SIDE.
85. THE BARLEY-RAKINGS.
86. A SHIP CAME SAILING OVER THE SEA.
87. THE RAMBLING SAILOR.
88. WILLIE COMBE.
89. MIDSUMMER CAROL.
90. THE BLACKBIRD.
91. THE GREEN BED.
92. THE LOYAL LOVER.
93. THE STREAMS OF NANTSIAN.
94. THREE DRUNKEN MAIDENS.
95. TOBACCO IS AN INDIAN WEED.
96. FAIR SUSAN SLUMBERED.
97. THE FALSE BRIDE.
98. BARLEY STRAW.
99. DEATH AND THE LADY.
100. BOTH SEXES GIVE EAR TO MY FANCY.
101. I RODE MY LITTLE HORSE.
102. AMONG THE NEW-MOWN HAY.
103. I'LL BUILD MYSELF A GALLANT SHIP.
104. COLLY, MY COW.
105. WITHIN A GARDEN.
106. THE BONNY BIRD.
107. THE LADY AND APPRENTICE.
108. PAUL JONES.
109. THE MERRY HAYMAKERS.
110. IN BIBBERLY TOWN.
111. THE MARIGOLD.
112. ARTHUR LE BRIDE.
113. THE KEEPER.
114. THE QUEEN OF HEARTS.
115. THE OWL.
116. MY MOTHER DID SO BEFORE ME.
117. A WEEK'S WORK WELL DONE.
118. THE OLD MAN CAN'T KEEP HIS WIFE AT HOME.
119. SWEET, FAREWELL!
120. OLD ADAM, THE POACHER.
121. EVENING PRAYER.
NOTES ON THE SONGS.
ALPHABETICAL INDEX OF SONGS
No. Page
A MAIDEN SAT A WEEPING 39 78
AMONG THE NEW MOWN HAY 102 208
ALL JOLLY FELLOWS THAT FOLLOW THE PLOUGH 63 130
A NUTTING WE WILL GO 83 170
ARTHUR LE BRIDE 112 228
A SHIP CAME SAILING 86 176
AS JOHNNY WALKED OUT 11 22
A SWEET PRETTY MAIDEN 36 72
AT THE SETTING OF THE SUN 62 128
A WEEK'S WORK WELL DONE 117 238
BARLEY RAKING, THE 85 174
BARLEY STRAW, THE 98 200
BELL RINGING, THE 82 168
BIBBERLY TOWN, IN 110 224
BLACKBIRD, THE 90 184
BLOW AWAY YE MORNING BREEZES 25 50
BLUE FLAME, THE 67 138
BLUE KERCHIEF 40 80
BLUE MUSLIN 22 44
BOLD DRAGOON, THE 65 134
BONNY BIRD, THE 106 216
BONNY BUNCH OF ROSES, THE 27 54
BOTH SEXES GIVE EAR TO MY FANCY 100 204
BRIXHAM TOWN 9 18
BROKEN TOKEN, THE 44 88
BY CHANCE IT WAS 1 2
CHILDE THE HUNTER 33 66
CHIMNEY SWEEP, THE 20 40
CICELY SWEET 35 70
COLD BLOWS THE WIND 6 12
COLLY, MY COW 104 212
COME TO MY WINDOW 41 82
CONSTANT JOHNNY 80 164
COTTAGE WELL THATCHED WITH STRAW, THE 34 68
COUNTRY DANCE, A 79 162
COUNTRY FARMER'S SON, THE 69 142
DEATH AND THE LADY 99 202
DEATH OF PARKER 23 46
DILLY SONG, THE 78 160
DOWN BY A RIVER SIDE 84 172
DROWNED LOVER, THE 32 64
DRUNKEN MAIDENS 94 192
DUKE'S HUNT, THE 81 166
EVENING PRAYER, THE 121 246
FAIR LADY PITY ME 60 124
FAIR SUSAN SLUMBERED 96 196
FALSE BRIDE, THE 97 198
FLORA, THE LILY OF THE WEST 58 118, 120
FOX, THE 55 112
FURZE BLOOM 56 114
GIPSY COUNTESS, THE 50 100
GOLDEN VANITY, THE 64 132
GREEN BED, THE 91 186
GREEN BROOM 10 20
GREEN BUSHES, THE 43 86
GREY MARE, THE 51 104
HEARTY GOOD FELLOW, THE 26 52
HELSTON FURRY DANCE, THE 24 48
HENRY MARTYN 53 108
HOSTESS' DAUGHTER, THE 70 144
HUNTING OF ARSCOTT, THE 2 4
I'LL BUILD MYSELF A GALLANT SHIP 103 210
IN BIBBERLY TOWN 110 224
I RODE MY LITTLE HORSE 101 206
JAN'S COURTSHIP 31 62
JOHN BARLEYCORN 14 28
JOLLY FELLOWS THAT FOLLOW THE PLOUGH 63 130
JOLLY GOSS-HAWK, THE 71 146
KEENLY LODE, THE 46 92
KEEPER, THE 113 230
LADY AND APPRENTICE, THE 107 218
LAST OF THE SINGERS, THE 28 56
LOVER'S TASKS, THE 48 96
LOYAL LOVER, THE 92 188
LULLABY 49 98
MAIDEN SAT A-WEEPING, A 39 78
MARIGOLD, THE 111 226
MAY DAY CAROL 47 94
MERRY HAYMAKERS, THE 109 222
MIDSUMMER CAROL, A 89 182
MILLER AND HIS SONS, THE 12 24
MOLE CATCHER, THE 45 90
MONTHS OF THE YEAR, THE 19 38
MY MOTHER DID SO BEFORE ME 116 236
OLD ADAM THE POACHER 120 244
OLD MAN CAN'T KEEP HIS WIFE AT HOME, THE 118 240
OLD WICHET 30 60
ON A MAY MORNING 73 150
ORMOND THE BRAVE 13 26
OWL, THE 115 234
OXEN PLOUGHING, THE 57 116
PAINFUL PLOUGH, THE 61 128
PARSON HOGG 5 10
PAUL JONES 108 220
PLYMOUTH SOUND 54 110
POOR OLD HORSE 77 158
QUEEN OF HEARTS, THE 114 232
RAMBLING SAILOR, THE 87 178
ROVING JACK 8 16
SAILOR'S FAREWELL, THE 38 76
SAUCY SAILOR, THE 21 42
SILLY OLD MAN, THE 18 36
SIMPLE PLOUGHBOY, THE 59 122
SONG OF THE MOOR, THE 72 148
SPOTTED COW, THE 74 152
SPRIG OF THYME, THE 7 14
STRAWBERRY FAIR 68 140
STREAMS OF NANTSIAN, THE 93 190
SWEET FAREWELL 119 242
SWEET NIGHTINGALE 15 30
THREE DRUNKEN MAIDENS, THE 94 192
THREE JOVIAL WELSHMEN 75 154
TOBACCO 95 194
TOMMY A LYNN 42 84
TREES THEY ARE SO HIGH, THE 4 8
TRINITY SUNDAY 66 136
TYTHE PIG, THE 29 58
UPON A SUNDAY MORNING 3 6
WELL MET! WELL MET! 76 156
WHITE COCKADE, THE 37 74
WIDDECOMBE FAIR 16 32
WILLY COMBE 88 189
WITHIN A GARDEN 105 214
WRECK OFF SCILLY, THE 52 106
WEEK'S WORK WELL DONE, A 117 238
YE MAIDENS PRETTY 17 34
PREFACE
In this Edition of "SONGS OF THE WEST," some considerable changes
have been made. When the first edition was issued, we had to catch
the public taste, and to humour it. Accordingly the choruses were
arranged in four parts, and some of the Songs were set as duets
and quartettes. But now that real interest in Folk airs has been
awakened, we have discarded this feature.
Moreover, a good many accompanists complained that the arrangements
were too elaborate, except for very skilled pianoforte players. We
have now simplified the settings.
Then, we have omitted twenty-two songs, and have supplied their
places with others, either because the others are intrinsically
better, or that they have earlier and more characteristic melodies,
or again because the songs though sung by the people, did not seem to
us to have been productions of the folk-muse.
Again, when our first edition was published, modal melodies were not
appreciated, and we had regretfully to put many aside and introduce
more of the airs of a modern character. Public taste is a little
healthier now, and musicians have multiplied who can value these
early melodies. Consequently we have not felt the same reserve now
that we did in 1889.
INTRODUCTION
Dorothy Osborne, in a letter to Sir William Temple, in 1653, thus
describes her daily home life. "The heat of the day is spent in
reading or working, and about six or seven o'clock I walk out into
a common that lies hard by the house, where a great many young
wenches keep sheep or cows, and sit in the shade singing ballads.
I go to them and compare their voices and beauties to some ancient
shepherdesses that I have read of, and find a vast difference there;
but trust me these are as innocent as those could be. I talk to them,
and find they want nothing to make them the happiest people in the
world but the knowledge that they are so. Most commonly, when we are
in the midst of our discourse, one looks about her, and spies her
cows going into the corn, and then away they all run as if they had
wings to their heels." ("Letters of Dorothy Osborne," London, 1888,
p. 103.)
Before that Sir Thomas Overbury, in his "Character of a Milkmaid,"
had written: "She dares go alone and unfold her sheep in the night,
and fears no manner of ill, because she means none: yet, to say
truth, she is never alone, she is still accompanied with old songs,
honest thoughts, and prayers, but short ones."
During the reign of Queen Mary, the Princess Elizabeth was kept
under close guard and restraint, but was suffered to walk in the
palace grounds. "In this situation," says Holinshed, "no marvel if
she, hearing upon a time, out of her garden at Woodstock, a certain
milkmaid singing pleasantlie, wished herself to be a milkmaid as she
was; saying that her case was better, and life merrier." So Viola, in
Fletcher's play, "The Coxcombe," 1647:
"Would to God, my father
Had lived like one of these, and bred me up
To milk, and do as they do! Methinks 'tis
A life that I would chuse, if I were now
To tell my time again, above a prince's."
The milkmaid, and the girls guarding sheep and cows are things of
the past, and with them have largely departed their old ballads and
songs. Tusser, in his "Points on Huswifry," in 1570, recommends the
country housewife to select her maids from those who sing at their
work as being usually the most painstaking and the best.
"Such servants are oftenest painsfull and good,
That sing at their labours, like birds in a wood."
Nowadays, domestic servants sing nothing but hymns, and the use of
ballads and folksongs has died out among farm girls, and these are
to be recovered only where there are village industries as basket
weaving, glove sewing, and the like.
But the old men sing their ancient ditties, or did so till within
the last fifty years. Now they are no longer called on for them, but
they remember them, and with a little persuasion can be induced to
render them up. When I was a boy, I was wont to ride over and about
Dartmoor, and to put up at little village taverns. There I was sure
in the evening to hear one or two men sing, and should it be a pay
day, sing hour after hour, one song following another with little
intermission.
There was an institution at mines and quarries called a _fetching_.
It occurred every fortnight. The men left work early, and went to
the changing room; stone jars of ale were brought thither from the
nearest public house. Each man filled his mug, and each in turn,
before emptying it, was required to sing. On such occasions many a
fine old ballad was to be picked up. There was also the farm-supper
after harvest, at which the workmen sang. Now the suppers have been
discontinued. Ringer's feasts, happily, still remain, and at them a
good old ditty may be heard. But most of the old singers with their
traditional ballads set to ancient modal melodies have passed away.
In "Poems, etc.," by Henry Incledon Johns, published by subscription,
Devonport, 1832, is the following interesting passage. He is
describing a night spent in an inn on the borders of Dartmoor; he
met farmers and labourers. "One of the party I observed never took
any share in the conversation, but appeared to have been invited
there for the sole purpose of singing to them. He sang a great number
of ballads, making up in loudness for what he lacked in melody. I
thought it betrayed rather a want of courtesy that his auditors
continued to talk while he sang, and no less remarkable, that they
never expressed either applause or disapprobation of his strains.
Now and then, one or two of them would join in a line of chorus, but
it seemed to be done in a sort of parenthesis, and the thread of the
conversation was immediately resumed as vehemently as ever.... I
gleaned the following scraps of the border minstrelsy of Dartmoor:
'There was an old man as blind as blind could be,
He swore he saw the fox go up a great tree.'
'There was one among them all
That's slender, fair and tall,
With a black and rolling eye,
And a skin of lily dye.'
'A bonny lass I courted full many a long day,
And dearly I loved to be in her sweet company.'
(The lover then describes the progress of his suit, which proves
unsuccessful, and concludes thus:--)
'Go, dig me a pit, that is long, large, and deep,
And I'll lay myself down, and take a long sleep.
And that's the way to forget her.'
"The air to the latter was rather plaintive, and from the lips of
some siren might have been entitled to an _encore_, but the voice
which now gave it utterance only added another to many previous
proofs that the English are not a musical people. The minstrel was
in appearance one of the most athletic men I have ever seen, and
although seventy-five years of age, would still, as I subsequently
learnt, perform a day's work better than most of the young men of the
parish. He was a pauper, but in great respect among the neighbouring
rustics for his vocal powers. His auditory were moor-farmers with
countenances as rugged and weather-beaten as the rocks among which
they live."
It is not a little interesting to know that some seventy years after
this recorded evening we were able to recover two of the songs which
Mr. Johns gives somewhat inaccurately; and both are included in this
collection. The first is "The Three Jovial Welshmen," No. 75; and the
last is "The False Bride," No. 97.
One of my old singers, James Olver, was the son of very strict
Wesleyans. When he was a boy, he was allowed to hear no music save
psalm and hymn tunes. But he was wont to creep out of his window at
night, and start away to the tavern where the miners congregated,
and listen to and heap up in his memory the songs he there heard. As
these were forbidden fruit they were all the more dearly prized and
surely remembered, and when he was a white-haired old man, he poured
them out to us.
Some forty or fifty years ago, it was customary when the corn was
cut, for the young men of a parish to agree together, and without
telling the farmer of their intention, to invade his harvest field,
work all night and stack his corn, whilst he slept. It was allowed
to leak out who had done him this favour, and in return, he invited
them with their lasses to sup and dance and make merry in a lighted
barn. Then famous old songs were sung. But all that good feeling is
at an end, and in its place exists a rankling hostility between the
tiller of the soil and his employer. Blame assuredly attaches to the
farmer for this condition of affairs, in that he has done away with
the farmhouse festivities in which workmen and employer took part.
One evening in 1888, I was dining with the late Mr. Daniel Radford,
of Mount Tavy, when the conversation turned to old Devonshire songs.
Some of those present knew "Widdecombe Fair," others remembered
"Arscott of Tetcott"; and all had heard many and various songs sung
at Hunt-suppers, at harvest and sheep-shearing feasts. My host turned
to me and said: "It is a sad thing that our folk-music should perish.
I wish you would set to work and collect it--gather up the fragments
that remain before all is lost!"
I undertook the task. I found that it was of little use going to most
farmers and yeoman. They sang the compositions of Hooke, Hudson, and
Dibden. But I learned that there were two notable old singing men
at South Brent, and I was aware that there was one moorland singing
farmer at Belstone, I was informed of this by J.D. Prickman, Esq., of
Okehampton. This man, Harry Westaway, knew many old songs. Moreover,
in my own neighbourhood was a totally illiterate hedger, in fact, he
could neither read nor write. He enjoyed no little local celebrity
as a song-man. His name was James Parsons, aged seventy-four, and
a son of a still more famous singer called "The Singing-machine,"
and grandson of another of the same fame. In fact, the profession
of song-man was hereditary in the family. At every country
entertainment, in olden times, at the public-house almost nightly,
for more than a century, one of these men of the Parsons' family had
not failed to attend, to sing as required for the entertainment of
the company. The _repertoire_ of the grandfather had descended to
old James. For how many generations before him the profession had
been followed I could not learn. James Parsons' ballad tunes were
of an early and archaic character. In fact, with few exceptions his
melodies were in the Gregorian modes. At one time Parsons and a man
named Voysey were working on the fringe of Dartmoor, and met in
the evening at the moorland tavern. Parsons boasted of the number
of songs he knew, and Voysey promised to give him a glass of ale
for every fresh one he sang. Parsons started with "The Outlandish
Knight," one song streamed forth after another, one glass after
another was emptied, and these men sat up the whole night, till
the sun rose, and the song-man's store was not then exhausted, but
Voysey's pocket was. I could hardly credit this tale when told me, so
I questioned Voysey, who had worked for my father and was working for
me. He laughed and confirmed the tale. "I ought to remember it," he
said, "for he cleared me clean out."
Many a pleasant evening have I spent with old Parsons, he in the
settle, sitting over the hall fire, I taking down the words of his
ballads, Mr. Sheppard or Mr. Bussell noting down his melodies.
But one day I heard that an accident had befallen Parsons. In cutting
"spears," _i.e._, pegs for thatching, on his knee he had cut into the
joint; and the village doctor told me he feared Parsons at his age
would never get over it. I sent for Mr. Bussell, and said to him: "We
shall lose our old singer, before we have quite drained him. Come
with me, and we will visit his cottage, and see what more we can get
from him." We went, and very pleased he was to sing to us from his
bed. "Old Wichet," No. 30, was one of the songs we then acquired from
him. Happily, the sturdy constitution of the man caused his recovery,
and he lived on for three years after this accident.
One day in November, I got a letter from the Vicar of South Brent,
in which he informed me that Robert Hard, a crippled stone-breaker
there, and one of my song-men, was growing very feeble. Without delay
I took the train, and arrived at South Brent Vicarage, just as the
party had finished breakfast. "Now," said I to the Vicar, "Lend me
your drawing room and the piano, and send for old Hard."
The stone breaker arrived, and I spent almost the whole day, that is,
till the dusk of evening fell, taking down his songs and melodies.
From him then, I had "The Cuckoo," that I have published in my
"Garland of Country Songs." A month later, poor old Hard was found
dead in a snowdrift by the roadside.
I had enlisted the services of such excellent musicians as the late
Rev. H. Fleetwood Sheppard, of Thurnscoe, Yorkshire, and Mr., now
the Rev. Doctor Bussell, Mus. Doc., and Vice-principal of Brazennose
[Transcriber's Note: Brasenose] College, Oxford, and we worked at
collecting, at South Brent, where besides Robert Hard, was John
Helmore, a miller, who died in the Ivy Bridge Workhouse in 1900;
also at Belstone, and we worked through the length and breadth of
Dartmoor. James Coaker,[1] a blind man of 89, in the heart of the
moor, very infirm, and able to leave his bed for a few hours of the
day only, was unable to sing, but could recite the words of ballads;
but Mr. J. Webb, captain of a mine hard by, knew his tunes, and could
very sweetly pipe them. On Blackdown, Mary Tavy, lived a mason,
Samuel Fone, he died in 1898. He had an almost inexhaustible supply.
Further songs were yielded by a singing blacksmith, John Woodrich, of
Woolacott Moor, Thrushleton, commonly known as "Ginger Jack"; also
by Roger Luxton, of Halwell, by James Olver, Tanner, Launceston, a
native of S. Kewe, Cornwall; by John Masters, of Bradstone, aged
83; by William Rice and John Rickards, both of Lamerton; by William
Friend, labourer, Lydford; Edmund Fry, thatcher, a native of Lezant,
Cornwall; Roger Hannaford, Widdecombe; Will and Roger Huggins,
Lydford; W. Bickle, Bridestowe; Matthew Baker, a poor cripple, Lew
Down; John Dingle, Coryton; J. Peake, tanner, Liskeard; and Mr. S.
Gilbert, the aged innkeeper of the "Falcon," Mawgan, in Pyder. More
were obtained from old singers at Two Bridges and Post Bridge on
Dartmoor, from others at Chagford, at Holne, and at South Brent. From
others again at Menheniot, Cornwall, and at Fowey. Some songs taken
down from moor men on Dartmoor, in or about 1868, were sent me by
W. Crossing, Esq., who knows Dartmoor better than any man living;
others by T.S. Cayzer, Esq., taken down in 1849. Miss Bidder, of
Stoke Flemming, most kindly searched her neighbourhood for old women
who knew ancient songs, and sent me what she obtained. We had several
rare old melodies from Sally Satterley,[2] now dead, of Huccaby
Bridge, Dartmoor. She had acquired them from her father, a crippled
fiddler.
[Footnote 1: I have given a memoir of this old man in my "Dartmoor
Idylls." (Methuen & Co., 1896).]
[Footnote 2: I have told the romantic story of the building of her
house in one day, "Jolly Lane Cott" in my "Dartmoor Idylls." The old
house has recently been pulled down and replaced by an ugly modern
cottage.]
Of the vast quantities of tunes that we have collected, perhaps a
third are very good, a third are good, and the remainder indifferent.
The singers are almost invariably illiterate and aged, and when they
die the tradition will be lost, for the present generation will
have nothing to do with these songs, especially such as are modal,
and supplant them with the vulgarest music hall compositions. The
melodies are far more precious than the words, and we have been
more concerned to rescue these than the words, which are often
common-place, and may frequently be found on broadside ballad sheets.
The words are less frequently of home growth than the airs, and over
and over again we came upon ballads already in print, but not to the
tunes to which they are sung elsewhere. There are, in fact, only a
few, such as "Cupid's Garden," "Bold General Wolf," "Lord Thomas and
the Fair Eleanor," "Barbara Allen," "Outward Bound," "The Mermaid,"
that retain the melodies to which sung in other parts of England.
But, "Tobacco is an Indian Weed," "Joans' Ale is New," "The Fox," and
many others have tunes to which sung in Devon and Cornwall that are
quite different and local. A remarkable instance is that of "Sweet
Nightingale." This appeared in 1761 with music by Dr. Arne. The words
travelled down to Cornwall, not so Arne's tune, and they were there
set to an entirely independent melody. Then again, when a tune did
travel West, and was heard by some of the peasant singers, if it did
not commend itself to their taste, they altered it, perhaps quite
unconsciously into a form more satisfactory to their minds. I have
given a very curious example of this, "Upon a Sunday Morning."
Our folk music is a veritable moraine of rolled and ground fragments
from musical strata far away. It contains melodies of all centuries
from the days of the minstrels down to the present time, all thrown
together in one heap. It must be borne well in mind that to the
rustic singer, melody is everything. It was so in the days before
Elizabeth. The people then did not want harmony; to them harmony is
quite a modern invention and need.
At the present day, we are so accustomed to choral and concerted
music that we have come to care little for formal melody, and Wagner
has taught us to be content with musical phrases alone. Melody is
a musical idea worked out in successive notes of our scale. Modern
music is constructed in but two of the seven diatonic modes, in which
melodies may be cast, the major and the minor; with the result that
the modern ear entertains no appreciation of an air that is not in
the Ionian scale, the "tonus lascivus" of the ancients.
The jongleur or minstrel had but the rudest of instruments; the
peasant singer had none at all. What interest he can create, what
effect he can produce, must be through melody alone. Now, I venture
to assert that the folk music of the English peasantry has been
surpassingly rich in melodiousness, and that no tune has had a chance
of living and being transmitted from generation to generation,
unless it have a distinct individuality in it, in a word, contains
a melodious idea. Moreover, not having been framed only in the
common major or minor key, it is abundantly varied. It has been a
well-spring from which hitherto we have not drawn.
In former times, that strongly defined dividing line which separates
the cultured from the uncultured did not exist. The music of
the peasant was also the music of the court; the ballad was the
delight of the cottager and of the noble lady in her bower. But the
separation began, in music, in the Elizabethan days; in ballads,
in those of James I., when nearly every old ballad was re-written
to fresh metres, unsingable to the traditional airs. The skilled
musician scorned folk melodies, and revelled in counter-point.
It is a mistake to suppose that all mediæval music was in the
Gregorian modes other than our major and minor. Even in the 13th
century, the modern major mode was used, so that some of our
traditional airs, which seem to be modern may really be old.
M. Tiersot notes that among the melodies extant of three trouvères of
the Thirteenth century, a certain number are modern in character. Of
twenty-two airs by the Chatelain de Coucy, three are frankly in the
major; five others in the 7th or the 8th tone, give the impression of
the major. Of nine melodies by the King of Navarre, four are in the
major, a fifth in the 7th tone, is of the same nature as those of De
Coucy. Of thirty-four _chansons_ by Adam de la Hall, twenty-one are
in the major.
The folk airs that we give in our collection may not please at
first, certainly will not please all; but when once a relish for
them has been acquired, then hearers will turn with weariness from
the ordinary concert hall feebleness, as we turn from the twaddle of
a vacuous female. We have found it necessary to take down all the
variants of the same air that we have come across.
M. Bourgault Ducoudray, in his introduction to "Mélodies populaires
de Basse Bretagne," Paris, 1885, says: "When a song has been
transmitted from mouth to mouth, without having been fixed by
notation, it is exposed to alterations. One is sometimes obliged to
collect as many as twenty variants of the same air, before finding
one that is good. This is the greatest difficulty to the seeker; it
is as hard to lay the hand on the veritable typal form of a melody
as it is to meet with an intact specimen among the shells that have
been rolled on the sea shore." When a party of singers is assembled,
or when one man sings a succession of ballads, the memory becomes
troubled; the first few melodies are given correctly, but after
that, the airs become deflected and influenced by the airs last sung.
At Two Bridges one old singer, G. Kerswell, after giving us "The
Bell-ringers," sang us half-a-dozen ballads but the melody of the
bells went through them all, and vitiated them all so as to render
them worthless. On another occasion, we took down four or five airs
all beginning alike, because one singer had impressed this beginning
on the minds of the others. At another time, when this impression was
worn off, they would sing correctly, and then the beginnings would be
different. Experience taught us never to take down too much at one
sitting.
In a very few years all this heritage of traditional folk music will
be gone; and this is the supreme moment at which such a collection
can be made. Already, nearly every one of my old singers from
whom these melodies were gathered, is dead. They are passing away
everywhere. Few counties of England have been worked. Sussex has
been well explored by the late Rev. John Broadwood, and then by Miss
Lucy Broadwood[3]; Yorkshire, by Mr. Frank Kidson; Northumberland,
by Dr. Collingwood Bruce and Mr. John Stokoe. Mr. Cecil Sharp is now
engaged on Somersetshire, and Dr. Vaughan Williams on Essex. Who will
undertake Lincolnshire, Dorset, Hampshire, and other counties? The
purely agricultural districts are most auriferous. In manufacturing
counties modern music has driven out the traditional folk melodies.
[Footnote 3: The Rev. J. Broadwood, of Lyne, Sussex, printed his
collection "for Private Circulation only," in 1843. It was reprinted
later, with additions, by Miss L. Broadwood, under the title of
"Sussex Songs." (Leonard & Co., Oxford Street.)]
With regard to the approximate dates of the airs we give, all that
we can say is that such as are in the ancient modes are not later
than the reign of James I. How much more ancient they may be, it is
impossible to determine. The melodies of the Handel and Arne, and
then those of the Hooke and Dibden periods can be at once detected.
Some few of the melodies we have taken down were certainly originally
in one or other of the ancient modes, but in process of time have
been subjected to alteration, to accommodate them to the modern ear.
Although some seventy per cent. of the airs noted from the very
old singers are modal, we have not given too many of these, as the
popular taste is not sufficiently educated to relish them. But such
as can not perceive the beauty of the tunes that go, for instance,
to "The Trees they are so high," in the rarely used Phrygian mode,
"Flora, the Flower of the West," in F, "Henry Martyn," "On a May
morning so early," etc., are indeed to be pitied. We have not been
able to give those lengthy ballads, such as, "The Outlandish Knight,"
"The Brown Girl," "By the Banks of Green Willow," "The Baffled
Knight," "William and the Shepherd's Daughter," "Captain Ward," "The
Golden Glove," "The Maid and the Box," "The Death of Queen Jane,"
etc., which are too long to be sung and listened to with patience
now-a-days.
In some instances we have set other words to a ballad tune, as XXXVI.
One of my old singers said to me concerning this ballad, "When my
little sister, now dead, these twenty years, was a child, and went up
from Exeter to London with me in a carrier's van, Lor bless'y, afore
railways was invented, I mind that she sang this here ballet in the
waggon all the way up. We was three days about it. She was then about
six years old." The ballet, by the way, is not particularly choice
and suitable for a child or a grown-up girl to sing, according to our
ideas.
In giving these songs to the public, we have been scrupulous to
publish the airs precisely as noted down, choosing among the
variants those which commended themselves to us as the soundest.
But we have not been so careful with regard to the _words_. These
are sometimes in a fragmentary condition, or are coarse, contain
_double entendres_, or else are mere doggerel. Accordingly, we have
re-written the songs wherever it was not possible to present them
in their original form. This was done by the Scotch. Many an old
ballad is gross, and many a broadside is common-place. Songs that
were thought witty in the Caroline and early Georgian epochs, are no
longer sufferable; and broadside ballads are in many cases vulgarised
versions of earlier ballads that have been lost in their original
forms.
What a change has taken place in public feeling with regard to
decency may be judged by the way in which Addison speaks of D'Urfey
in "The Guardian," 1713, No. 29. "A _judicious_ author, some years
since, published a collection of sonnets, which he very successfully
called "Laugh and be Fat; or, Pills to purge Melancholy." I can
not sufficiently admire the facetious title of these volumes, and
must censure the world of ingratitude, while they are so negligent
in rewarding the jocose labours of my friend, Mr. D'Urfey, who was
so large a contributor to this treatise, and to whose numerous
productions so many rural squires in the remotest parts of the
island are obliged for the dignity and state which corpulency gives
them." And again, in No. 67, "I must heartily recommend to all
young ladies, my disciples, the case of my old friend, who has often
made their grand-mothers merry, and whose sonnets have perhaps
lulled to sleep many a present toast, when she lay in her cradle."
Why--D'Urfey's Pills must now-a-days be kept under lock and key. The
fun so commended by the pious and grave Addison is filth of the most
revolting description. And yet the grand-mothers of the ladies of his
day, according to him, were wont to sing them over the cradles of
their grand-children!
So when a "Collection of Old Ballads" was published 1723-5, the
Editor, after giving a series of historical and serious pieces, in
a later volume apologises to the ladies for their gravity, and for
their special delectation furnishes an appendix of songs that are
simply dirty.
A good many of the ditties in favour with our rural song-men, are,
it must be admitted, of the D'Urfey type; and what is more some of
the very worst are sung to the daintiest early melodies. Two courses
lay open to us. One that adopted Dr. Barrett and Mr. Kidson to print
the words exactly as given on the broadsides, with asterisks for the
undesirable stanzas. But this would simply have killed the songs.
No one would care to warble what was fragmentary. On the other
hand, there is that adopted by the Scotch and Irish collectors,
which consists in re-writing or modifying where objectionable or
common-place. This has been the course we have pursued. It seemed a
pity to consign the lovely old melodies to the antiquary's library,
by publishing them with words which were fatal to the success of the
songs in the drawing room or the concert hall. We resolved where the
old words were good, or tolerable, to retain them. Where bad, to
re-write, adhering as closely as possible to the original. Where the
songs were mere broadside ballads, we have had no scruple in doing
this, for we give reference to the press-mark in the British Museum,
where the original text may be found. But the broadside itself is
often a debased form of a fine early ballad. The broadside publishers
were wont to pay a shilling to any ballad mongers who could furnish
them with a new ditty. These men were destitute of the poetic faculty
and illiterate, and they contented themselves with taking old ballads
and recomposing them, so as to give to them a semblance of novelty,
sufficient to qualify their authors to claim the usual fee. Here are
some lines by one of the fraternity:
"I'm Billy Nuts wot always cuts
A dash through all the town, sir,
With lit'rary men, my clever pen
In grammar gains renown, sir,
In song, and catch, and ditty.
And then to each, with dying speech
I do excite their pity.
So all agree to welcome me,
With drum and fife and whiols, (_sic_ for viols)
A cause my name stands fast in fame,
The Bard of Seven Dials."
(B.M., 11,621, K. 4)
Our object was not to furnish a volume for consultation by the
musical antiquary alone, but to resuscitate, and to popularise
the traditional music of the English people. As, however, to the
antiquary everything is important, exactly as obtained, uncleansed
from rust and unpolished, I have deposited a copy of the songs and
ballads with their music exactly as taken down, for reference, in the
Municipal Free Library, Plymouth.
The Rev. H.F. Sheppard, who worked with me for twelve years in
rescuing these old songs, and in bringing them before the public,
is now no more. A new edition has been called for, and in this
some exclusions and some additions have been made. We do not think
that the pieces we have removed are not good, but that we are able
to supply their places with others that are better. Mr. Sheppard
entertained a very strong objection to arranging any song he had
not himself "pricked down" from the lips of the singers, and as Mr.
Bussell had noted down hundreds as well, these, for the most part,
had to be laid on one side. Mr. Sheppard was, doubtless, right in his
assertion, that unless he had himself heard the song sung, he could
not catch its special character, and so render it justly.
Acting on the advice of Mr. Cecil Sharp, of the Conservatoire,
Hampstead, who has kindly undertaken the musical editorship of this
edition, I have introduced several interesting ballads and songs
that, for the reason above given, were excluded from the first. Mr.
F. Kidson has kindly afforded us information relative to such songs
as he has come across in Yorkshire.
In conclusion I give a few particulars relative to the Rev. H.F.
Sheppard, my fellow-worker, and Mr. D. Radford, the instigator of
the collection, both of whom have passed away.
Henry Fleetwood Sheppard was a graduate of Trinity Hall, Cambridge,
and had been appointed Travelling Batchelor to the University.
Through the whole of his clerical career he was closely associated
with sacred music, especially with Plain-song, of which he was an
enthusiastic admirer. As precentor of the Doncaster Choral Union
from 1864 to 1884, he became the pioneer of improved church music
in that part of Yorkshire. In the year 1868 he was presented to the
Rectory of Thurnscoe, which at that time was an agricultural village
numbering about 180 inhabitants, where he remained until 1898, when
he resigned his living on account of his advancing years which
precluded his coping satisfactorily with the population swelling to
3,366 souls, owing to the opening of coal mines in the parish. In
1888, as already intimated, he was associated along with myself in
the collection of Devon and Cornish folk songs.
When he resigned the incumbency of Thurnscoe, he retired to Oxford,
where, in his declining years, he might, at his leisure, dip into
those store houses of classical and musical literature in which his
soul delighted.
Three days before Christmas, 1901, a slight stroke of paralysis gave
warning of possibly serious mischief. A sudden and fatal collapse
ensued on S. John's Day, without further warning. He was laid to rest
at Oxford on New Year's Eve. An inscription in the Vestry wall at
Thurnscoe, was cut by one who was in Mr. Sheppard's choir for nearly
forty years before his death. "Pray for the peace of Henry Fleetwood
Sheppard, Rector of this Parish Church, 1868-1898, who went to rest,
December 27th, 1901, aged 77 years."
Mr. Daniel Radford, of Mount Tavy, was an enthusiastic lover of all
that pertained to his county. He knew that a number of traditional
songs and ballads still floated about, and he saw clearly that unless
these were at once collected, they would be lost irretrievably, and
he pressed on me the advisability of making a collection, and of
setting about it at once. I began to do so in 1888, and continued
at it, working hard for twelve years, assisted by Mr. Sheppard and
Mr. Bussell. Mr. Radford was one for whom I entertained the deepest
affection, inspired by his high character; and I knew that what he
judged to be advisable should be undertaken in no perfunctory way.
Mr. Radford died January 3rd, 1900, at the age of seventy-two, and
was buried in Lydford churchyard. The beautiful rood-screen in the
church has been erected by his sons to his memory.
In the collection, the music initialed H.F.S. has the accompaniment
arranged for the piano by Mr. Sheppard, that initialed C.J.S. by Mr.
C.J. Sharp; that F.W.B. by Dr. Bussell.
[Illustration]
No. 1 BY CHANCE IT WAS
H.F.S.
[Music]
1
By chance it was I met my love,
It did me much surprise,
Down by a shady myrtle grove,
Just as the sun did rise.
The birds they sang right gloriously,
And pleasant was the air;
And there was none, save she and I,
Among the flowers fair.
2
In dewy grass and green we walk'd,
She timid was and coy;
"How can'st thou choose but pity me,
My pretty pearl, my joy?
How comes it that thou stroll'st this way?
Sweet maiden, tell me true,
Before bright Phoebus' glittering ray
Has supped the morning dew?"
3
"I go to tend the flocks I love
The ewes and tender lambs,
That pasture by the myrtle grove,
That gambol by their dams;
There I enjoy a pure content
At dawning of the day,"
Then, hand in hand, we lovers went
To see the flock at play.
4
And as we wended down the road,
I said to her, "Sweet Maid,
Three years I in my place abode
And three more must be stayed.
The three that I am bound so fast,
O fairest wait for me.
And when the weary years are past
Then married we will be."
5
"Three years are long, three times too long,
Too lengthy the delay."
O then I answered in my song,
"Hope wastes them quick away.
Where love is fervent, fain and fast,
And knoweth not decay.
There nimbly fleet the seasons past
Accounted as one day."
No. 2 THE HUNTING OF ARSCOTT OF TETCOTT
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
In the month of November, in the year fifty-two,
Three jolly Fox-hunters, all Sons of the Blue,
They rode from Pencarrow, not fearing a wet coat,
To take their diversion with Arscott of Tetcott.
Sing fol-de-rol, lol-de-rol, la-de, heigh-ho!
Sing fol-de-rol, lol-de-rol, la-de, heigh-ho!
2
The day-light was dawning, right radiant the morn,
When Arscott of Tetcott he winded his horn;
He blew such a flourish, so loud in the hall,
The rafters re-sounded, and danced to the call.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
3
In the kitchen the servants, in kennel the hounds,
In the stable the horses were roused by the sounds,
On Black-Bird in saddle sat Arscott, "To day
I will show you good sport, lads, Hark! follow, away!"
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
4
They tried in the coppice, from Becket to Thorn,
There were Ringwood and Rally, and Princess and Scorn;
Then out bounded Reynard, away they all went,
With the wind in their tails, on a beautiful scent.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
5
"Hark, Vulcan!" said Arscott, "The best of good hounds!
Heigh Venus!" he shouted, "How nimbly she bounds!
And nothing re-echoes so sweet in the valley,
As the music of Rattler, of Fill-pot, and Rally."
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
6
They hunted o'er fallow, o'er field and on moor,
And never a hound, man or horse would give o'er.
Sly Reynard kept distance for many a mile,
And no one dismounted for gate or for stile.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
7
"How far do you make it?" said Simon, the Son,
"The day that's declining will shortly be done."
"We'll follow till Doom's day," quoth Arscott. Before
They hear the Atlantic with menacing roar.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
8
Thro' Whitstone and Poundstock, St. Gennys they run,
As a fireball, red, in the sea set the sun.
Then out on Penkenner--a leap, and they go,
Full five hundred feet to the ocean be-low.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
9
When the full moon is shining as clear as the day,
John Arscott still hunteth the country, they say;
You may see him on Black-Bird, and hear, in full cry
The pack from Pencarrow to Dazard go by.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
10
When the tempest is howling, his horn you may hear,
And the bay of his hounds in their headlong career;
For Arscott of Tetcott loves hunting so well,
That he breaks for the pastime from Heaven--or Hell.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
No. 3 UPON A SUNDAY MORNING
H.F.S.
[Music]
1
Upon a Sunday morning, when Spring was in its prime,
Along the Church-lane tripping, I heard the Church-bells chime,
And there encountered Reuben, astride upon the stile,
He blocked the way, so saucy, upon his lips a smile.
2
Upon a Sunday morning, there came a rush of bells,
The wind was music-laden, in changeful fall and swells;
He would not let me over, he held, he made me stay,
And promise I would meet him again at close of day.
3
Upon a Sunday evening, the ringers in the tower,
Were practising their changes, they rang for full an hour;
And Reuben by me walking, would never let me go,
Until a Yes I answered, he would not take a No.
4
Again a Sunday morning, and Reuben stands by me,
Not now in lane, but chancel, where all the folks may see.
A golden ring he offers, as to his side I cling,
O happy Sunday morning, for us the Church-bells ring.
No. 4 THE TREES THEY ARE SO HIGH
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
All the trees they are so high,
The leaves they are so green,
The day is past and gone, sweet-heart,
That you and I have seen.
It is cold winter's night,
You and I must bide alone:
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
2
In a garden as I walked,
I heard them laugh and call;
There were four and twenty playing there,
They played with bat and ball.
O the rain on the roof,
Here and I must make my moan:
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
3
I listened in the garden,
I looked o'er the wall;
Amidst five and twenty gallants there
My love exceeded all.
O the wind on the thatch,
Here and I alone must weep:
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
4
O father, father dear,
Great wrong to me is done,
That I should married be this day,
Before the set of sun.
At the huffle of the gale,
Here I toss and cannot sleep:
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
5[4]
My daughter, daughter dear,
If better be, more fit,
I'll send him to the court awhile,
To point his pretty wit.
But the snow, snowflakes fall,
O and I am chill as dead:
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
6[5]
To let the lovely ladies know
They may not touch and taste,
I'll bind a bunch of ribbons red
About his little waist.
But the raven hoarsely croaks,
And I shiver in my bed;
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
7
I married was, alas,
A lady high to be,
In court and stall and stately hall,
And bower of tapestry,
But the bell did only knell,
And I shuddered as one cold:
When I wed the pretty lad
Not done growing.
8
At seventeen he wedded was,
A father at eighteen,
At nineteen his face was white as milk,
And then his grave was green;
And the daisies were outspread,
And buttercups of gold,
O'er my pretty lad so young
Now ceased growing.
[Footnote 4: May be omitted in singing.]
[Footnote 5: May be omitted in singing.]
No. 5 PARSON HOGG
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
Mess Parson Hogg shall now maintain,
The burden of my song, Sir,
A single life, perforce he led,
Of constitution strong, Sir.
Sing, tally-ho! sing, tally-ho!
Sing, tally-ho! why zounds, Sir,
He mounts his mare, to hunt the hare,
Sing tally-ho! the hounds, Sir.
2
And every day he goes to Mass,
He first draws on the boot, Sir,
That should the beagles chance to pass,
He might join in pursuit, Sir!
Sing tally-ho! &c.
3
That Parson little loveth prayer,
And Pater, night and morn, Sir,
For bell and book, hath little care
But dearly loves the horn, Sir.
Sing tally-ho! &c.
4
S. Stephen's Day, this holy man
He went a pair to wed, Sir,
When as the Service he began
Puss by the Church-yard sped, Sir.
Sing tally-ho! &c.
5
He shut his book, Come on, he said,
I'll pray and bless no more, Sir,
He drew his surplice o'er his head
And started for the door, Sir
Sing tally-ho! &c.
6
In pulpit Parson Hogg was strong,
He preached without a book, Sir,
And to the point, and never long,
And this the text he took, Sir,
"O tally-ho! O tally-ho!
Dearly beloved--zounds, Sir
I mount my mare to hunt the hare,
Singing tally-ho! the hounds, Sir!"
No. 6 "COLD BLOWS THE WIND, SWEET-HEART"
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
"Cold blows the wind of night, sweet-heart,
Cold are the drops of rain;
The very first love that ever I had,
In green-wood he was slain.
2
"I'll do as much for my true-love
As any fair maiden may;
I'll sit and mourn upon his grave
A twelvemonth and a day."
3
A twelvemonth and a day being up,
The ghost began to speak;
"Why sit you here by my grave-side
From dusk till dawning break?"
4