They both are gone to the fair, O!
And we will to the merry green-wood,
To see what they do there O!
And for to chase, O, to chase the buck and doe!
With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble, O, to chase the buck and doe!
CHORUS. And we were up as soon as the day,
For to fetch the Summer home, O!
The Summer, and the May,
Now the Winter is a gone, O!
2
Where are those Spaniards,
That make so great a boast, O!
Why, they shall eat the grey goose feathers,
And we will eat the roast, O!
In every land, O, the land where'er we go,
With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble O, the land where'er we go.
CHORUS. And we were up, &c.
3
As for that good Knight, S. George,
S. George he was a Knight, O!
Of all the knights in Christendom!
S. George he is the right, O!
In every land, O! the land where'er we go,
With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble, O, the land where'er we go.
CHORUS. And we were up, &c.
4
God bless Aunt Mary Moses[8]
And all her power and might, O!
And send us peace in merry England,
Send peace by day and night, O!
To merry England, O! both now and ever mo'
With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble, O, both now and ever mo!
CHORUS. And we were up, &c.
[Footnote 8: "Aunt" and "Uncle" are titles of reverence given in
Cornwall quite irrespective of relationship.]
No. 25 BLOW AWAY YE MORNING BREEZES
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
Blow away, ye morning breezes,
Blow, ye winds, Heigh-ho!
Blow away the morning kisses,
Blow, blow, blow.
"O thou shalt rue the very hour,
That e'er thou knew'st the man,
For I will bake the wheaten flour,
And thou shalt bake the bran."
CHORUS. Blow away, ye morning breezes, &c.
2
"O thou shalt sorrow thro' thy soul
Thou stood'st to him so near.
For thou shalt drink the puddle foul,
And I the crystal clear."
CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c.
3
"O thou shalt rue that e'er thou wo'ld
Behold a love of mine.
For thou shalt sup the water cold,
But I will sup red wine."
CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c.
4
"Thou shalt lament in grief and doubt,
Thou spake'st with him at all,
For thou shalt wear the sorry clout,
And I the purple pall."
CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c.
5
"O thou shalt curse thy day of birth,
And curse thy dam and sire,
For I shall warm me at the hearth,
And thou shalt feed the fire."
CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c.
Note. In the original of the above Ballad each verse is
repeated with the variation of "I shall not," for "I shall"
&c. thus after the first verse comes,
I shall _not_ rue the very hour
That e'er I knew the man
But _I_ will bake the wheaten flour
And _thou_ shalt bake the bran.
It seems unnecessary to print these repetitions.
No. 26 THE HEARTY GOOD FELLOW
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
I saddled my horse, and away I did ride
Till I came to an ale-house hard by the road-side,
I call'd for a pot of ale frothing and brown,
And close by the fireside I sat myself down,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY.
2
I saw there two gentlemen playing at dice,
They took me to be some nobleman nice.
With my swagger, and rapier, and countenance bold,
They thought that my pockets were well lined with gold,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY.
3
"A hearty good fellow," they said, "loveth play."
"That lies with the stakes, pretty sirs, that you lay."
Then one said "A guinea," but I said "Five Pound,"
The bet it was taken--no money laid down,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY.
4
I took up the dice, and I threw them the main,
It was my good fortune, that evening, to gain;
If they had a won, sirs, there'd been a loud curse,
When I threw in naught save a moneyless purse.
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY.
5
Was ever a mortal a quarter as glad,
With the little of money at first that I had!
A hearty good fellow, as most men opine
I am; so my neighbours pray pour out the wine,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had FIVE POUNDS, free.
6
I tarried all night, and I parted next day,
Thinks I to myself, I'll be jogging away!
I asked of the landlady what was my bill,
"O naught save a kiss of your lips, if you will."
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had FIVE POUNDS, free.
No. 27 THE BONNY BUNCH OF ROSES
H.F.S.
[Music]
1
Beside the rolling ocean
One morning in the month of June,
The feathered warbling songsters
Were sweetly changing note and tune.
I overheard a damsel fair
Complain in words of bitter woe,
With tear on cheek, she thus did speak,
O for the bonny Bunch of Roses, O!
2
Then up and spake her lover
And grasped the maiden by the hand,
Have patience, fairest, patience!
A legion I will soon command.
I'll raise ten thousand soldiers brave
Thro' pain and peril I will go
A branch will break, for thy sweet sake,
A branch of the bonny Bunch of Roses, O!
3
Then sadly said his mother,
As tough as truest heart of oak,
That stem that bears the roses,
And is not easy bent or broke
Thy father he essayed it first
And now in France his head lies low;
For sharpest thorn, is ever borne
O by the bonny Bunch of Roses, O!
4
He raised a mighty army
And many nobles joined his throng
With pipe and banner flying
To pluck the rose, he march'd along:
The stem he found was far too tough
And piercing sharp, the thorn, I trow.
No blossom he rent from the tree
All of the bonny Bunch of Roses, O!
5
O mother, dearest mother!
I lie upon my dying bed,
And like my gallant father
Must hide an uncrowned, humbled head.
Let none henceforth essay to touch
That rose so red, or full of woe,
With bleeding hand he'll fly the Land
The land of the bonny Bunch of Roses, O!
No. 28 THE LAST OF THE SINGERS
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
I reckon the days is departed,
When folks 'ud a listened to me,
And I feels like as one broken-hearted,
A-thinking o' what used to be.
And I don't know as much be amended,
Than was in them merry old Times,
When, wi' pipes and good ale, folks attended,
To me and my purty old rhymes,
CHORUS: To me and my purty old rhymes.
2
'Tis true, I be cruel asthmatic
I've lost every tooth i' my head;
And my limbs be that crim'd wi' rheumatic
D'rsay I were better in bed.
Oh my! all the world be for reading
Newspapers, and books and what not;
Sure--'tis only conceitedness breeding,
And the old singing man is forgot.
CHORUS: And the old singing man is forgot.
3
I reckon that wi' my brown fiddle
I'd go from this cottage to that;
All the youngsters 'ud dance in the middle,
Their pulses and feet, pit-a-pat.
I cu'd zing, if you'd stand me the liquor,
All the night, and 'ud never give o'er
My voice--I don't deny it getting thicker,
But never exhausting my store.
CHORUS: But never exhausting my store.
4
'Tis politics now is the fashion
As sets folks about by the ear.
And slops makes the poorest of lushing,
No zinging for me wi'out beer.
I reckon the days be departed
For such jolly gaffers as I,
Folks never will be so light-hearted
As they was in the days that's gone by.
CHORUS: As they was in the days that's gone by.
5
O Lor! what wi' their edication,
And me--neither cypher nor write;
But in zinging the best in the nation
And give the whole parish delight.
I be going, I reckon, full mellow
To lay in the Churchyard my head;
So say--God be wi' you, old fellow!
The last o' the Zingers is dead.
CHORUS: The last o' the Zingers is dead.
No. 29 THE TYTHE PIG
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
All you that love a bit of fun, come listen here awhile,
I'll tell you of a droll affair, will cause you all to smile.
The Parson dress'd, all in his best,
Cock'd hat and bushy wig,
He went into a farmer's house, to choose a sucking pig.
Good morning, said the Parson; good morning, sir, to you!
I'm come to take a sucking pig, a pig that is my due.
2
Then went the farmer to the stye, amongst the piglings small,
He chose the very wee-est pig, the wee-est of them all;
But when the Parson saw the choice,
How he did stamp and roar!
He snorted loud, he shook his wig, he almost-cursed and swore.
Good morning &c.
3
O then out spake the Farmer, Since my offer you refuse
Pray step into the stye yourself, that you may pick and choose.
So to the stye the Priest did hie,
And there without ado,
The old sow ran with open mouth, and grunting at him flew.
Good morning &c.
4
She caught him by the breeches black, that loudly he did cry
O help me! help me from the sow! or surely I shall die.
The little pigs his waistcoat tore,
His stockings and his shoes,
The Farmer said, with bow and smile, You're welcome, sir, to choose.
Good morning &c.
5
Away the Parson scamper'd home, as fast as he could run,
His wife was standing at the door, expecting his return,
But when she saw him in such plight
She fainted clean away,
Alas! alas! the Parson said, I bitter rue this day.
Good morning &c.
6
Go fetch me down a suit of clothes, a sponge and soap, I pray,
And bring me, too, my greasy wig, and rub me down with hay.
Another time, I won't be nice,
When a gathering my dues;
Another time in sucking pigs, I will not pick and choose.
Good morning, said the Parson, good morning, sirs, to you,
I will not pick a sucking pig--I leave the choice to you.
No. 30 OLD WICHET
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
I went into my stable to see what I might see,
And there I saw three horses stand, by one, by two, by three.
I call'd unto my loving wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she,
"O what do these three horses here without the leave of me?"
"Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see,
That these are three milking cows my mother sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Fill the cup! Milking cows with saddles up,
The like was never known, the like was never known."
Old Wichet went a noodle out, a noodle he came home.
2
I went into the kitchen, to see what I might see,
And there I saw three swords hung up, by one, by two, by three.
I call'd unto my loving wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she,
"O what do these three swords hang here without the leave of me?"
"Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see,
That these are three toasting forks, my mother sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Well done! Toasting forks with scabbards on!
The like," &c.
3
I went into the pantry, to see what I might see,
And there I saw three pair of boots, by one, by two, by three.
I called unto my loving wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she,
"O what do these three pair of boots without the leave of me?"
"Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see,
That these are three pudding bags, my mother sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Well done! Pudding bags with steel spurs on,
The like," &c.
4
I went into the dairy, to see what I might see,
And there I saw three beavers, by one, by two, by three.
I call'd unto my kind wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she,
"O what do these three beavers here without the leave of me?"
"Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see,
That these are three milking pails, my mother sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Well done! Milking pails with ribbons on,
The like," &c.
5
I went into the chamber, to see what I might see,
And there I saw three men in bed, by one, by two, by three.
I called unto my kind wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she,
"O why sleep here three gentlemen without the leave of me?"
"Why old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see,
That these are three milking maids, my mother sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Well done! Milking maids with beards on,
The like," &c.
6
I went about the chamber, as quick as quick might be,
I kicked the three men down the stairs, by one, by two, by three.
"Without your hats and boots be off, your horses leave and flee,
Your purses 'neath your pillows left; they too belong to me.
Why old wife, blind wife! can't you very well see,
That these are three highwaymen from justice hid by thee?"
"Hey boys! purses left! knaves they be, and away are flown.
The like was never known, the like was never known."
Old Wichet went a noodle out, a wise man he came home.
No. 31 JAN'S COURTSHIP
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
Come hither, son Jan! since thou art a man,
I'll gi'e the best counsel in life,
Come, sit down by me, and my story shall be,
I'll tell how to get thee a wife.
Iss, I will! man, I will!
Zure I will!
I'll tell how to get thee a wife! Iss, I will!
2
Thy self thou must dress in thy Sunday-go-best;
They'll at first turn away and be shy.
But boldly, kiss each purty maid that thou see'st,
They'll call thee their Love, by-and-bye.
Iss, they will! man, they will!
Zure they will!
They'll call thee their love by-and-bye! Iss, they will!
3
So a courting Jan goes in his holiday clothes,
All trim, nothing ragged and torn,
From his hat to his hose; with a sweet yellow rose,
He looked like a gentleman born.
Iss, he did! man he did!
Zure he did!
He looked like a gentleman born! Iss he did!
4
The first pretty lass that Jan did see pass,
A farmer's fat daughter called Grace.
He'd scarce said 'How do?' and a kind word or two,
Her fetched him a slap in the face.
Iss, her did! man, her did!
Zure her did!
Her fetched him a slap in the face! Iss, her did!
5
As Jan, never fearing o' nothing at all
Was walking adown by the locks,
He kiss'd the parson's wife, which stirred up a strife
And Jan was put into the stocks.
Iss, he was! man, he was!
Zure he was!
And Jan was put into the stocks! Iss, he was!
6
'If this be the way, how to get me a wife,'
Quoth Jan, 'I will never have none.
I'd rather live single the whole of my life
And home to my mammy I'll run.
Iss, I will! man, I will
Zure I will!
And home to my mammy I'll run! Iss, I will.'
No. 32 THE DROWNED LOVER
H.F.S.
[Music]
1
As I was a-walking down by the sea-shore,
Where the winds whistled high, and the waters did roar,
Where the winds whistled high, and the waves raged around,
I heard a fair maid make a pitiful sound,
Crying, O! my love is drowned!
My love must I deplore!
And I never, O! never
Shall see my love more!
2
I never a nobler, a truer did see
A lion in courage, but gentle to me,
An eye like an eagle, a heart like a dove,
And the song that he sang me was ever of love.
Now I cry, O! my love is drowned!
My love must I deplore!
And I never, O! never
Shall see my love more!
3
He is sunk in the waters, there lies he asleep,
I will plunge there as well, I will kiss his cold feet,
I will kiss the white lips, once coral-like red,
And die at his side, for my true love is dead.
Now I cry, O! my love is drowned.
My love must I deplore
And I never, O! never
Shall see my love more!
No. 33 CHILDE THE HUNTER
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
Come, listen all, both great and small
To you a tale I'll tell,
What on this bleak and barren moor,
In ancient days befell.
It so befell, as I've heard tell,
There came the hunter Childe,
All day he chased on heath and waste,
On Dart-a-moor so wild.
2
The winds did blow, then fell the snow,
He chased on Fox-tor mire;
He lost his way, and saw the day,
And winter's sun expire.
Cold blew the blast, the snow fell fast,
And darker grew the night;
He wandered high, he wandered low,
And nowhere saw a light.
3
In darkness blind, he could not find
Where he escape might gain,
Long time he tried, no track espied,
His labours all in vain.
His knife he drew, his horse he slew,
As on the ground it lay;
He cut full deep, therein to creep,
And tarry till the day.
4
The winds did blow, fast fell the snow,
And darker grew the night,
Then well he wot, he hope might not
Again to see the light.
So with his finger dipp'd in blood,
He scrabbled on the stones,--
"This is my will, God it fulfil,
And buried be my bones.
5
"Whoe'er he be that findeth me
And brings me to a grave,
The lands that now to me belong,
In Plymstock he shall have."
There was a cross erected then,
In memory of his name;
And there it stands, in wild waste lands,
To testify the same.
No. 34 THE COTTAGE THATCHED WITH STRAW
F.W.B.
[Music]
1
In the days of yore, there sat at his door,
An old farmer and thus sang he,
'With my pipe and my glass, I wish every class
On the earth were as well as me!'
For he en-vi-ed not any man his lot,
The richest, the proudest, he saw,
For he had home-brew'd--brown bread,
And a cottage well thatch'd with straw,
A cottage well thatch'd with straw,
And a cottage well thatch'd with straw;
For he had home-brew'd, brown bread,
And a cottage well thatch'd with straw.
2
'My dear old dad this snug cottage had,
And he got it, I'll tell you how.
He won it, I wot, with the best coin got,
With the sweat of an honest brow.
Then says my old dad, Be careful lad
To keep out of the lawyer's claw.
So you'll have home-brew'd--brown bread,
And a cottage well thatch'd with straw.
A cottage well thatch'd with straw, &c.
3
'The ragged, the torn, from my door I don't turn,
But I give them a crust of brown;
And a drop of good ale, my lad, without fail,
For to wash the brown crust down.
Tho' rich I may be, it may chance to me,
That misfortune should spoil my store,
So--I'd lack home-brew'd--brown bread,
And a cottage well thatch'd with straw,
A cottage well thatch'd with straw, &c.
4
'Then in frost and snow to the Church I go,
No matter the weather how.
And the service and prayer that I put up there,
Is to Him who speeds the plough.
Sunday saints, i' feck, who cheat all the week,
With a ranting and a canting jaw,
Not for them is my home-brew'd--brown bread,
And my cottage well thatch'd with straw.
My cottage well thatch'd with straw
My cottage well thatch'd with straw.
Not for them is my home-brew'd--brown bread,
And my cottage well thatch'd with straw.'
No. 35 CICELY SWEET
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
_He:_ Cicely sweet, the morn is fair,
Wilt thou drive me to despair?
Oft have I sued in vain
And now I'm come again,
Wilt thou be mine, or Yes or No?
Wilt thou be mine, or No?
_She:_ Prithee, Simon quit thy suit,
All thy pains will yield no fruit;
Go booby, get a sack,
To stop thy ceaseless clack.
Go for a booby, go, go, go!
Go for a booby, go!
2
_He:_ Cicely sweet, if thou'lt love me,
Mother'll do a deal for thee.
Her'd rather sell her cow,
Than I should die for thou.
Wilt thou be mine, or Yes or No?
Wilt thou be mine, or No?
_She:_ Mother thine had best by half,
Keep her cow and sell her calf;
No, never for a crown;
Will I marry with a clown;
Go for a booby, go, go, go!
Go for a booby, go!
3
_He:_ Cicely sweet, you do me wrong,
My legs be straight, my arms be strong
I'll carry thee about,
Thou'lt go no more afoot,
Wilt thou be mine or Yes, or No?
Wilt thou be mine, or No?
_She_: Keep thy arms to fight in fray,
Keep thy legs to run away;
Ne'er will I--as I'm a lass,
Care to ride upon an ass.
Go for a booby, go, go, go!
Go for a booby, go!
No. 36 A SWEET PRETTY MAIDEN SAT UNDER A TREE
H.F.S.
[Music]
1
A sweet pretty maiden sat under a tree,
She sighed and said, 'Oh! that I married might be,
My daddy is so crabbed and my mammy is so cross,
That a husband for certain could never be worse.'
2
Young Johnny he heard what the damsel did say.
He came to her side, and said smiling, 'Today
I have a little cottage and I have a little horse
I have a pleasant temper that will not grow worse.
3
'If you will be mine, and to that will agree,
We'll travel together in sweet amity.
There never will be wrangle, there never can be strife,
Between a good husband and his pretty wife.'
4
The maiden replied, 'I am not very sure,
That fond matrimony my trouble will cure,
From daddy and from mammy I quickly run away
And go into service for a year and a day.
5
'The ring that you hold is a link in a chain,
Will fetter my freedom, my tongue will restrain
I cannot run away, and I never shall be free,
So take your kind offer to others than me.'
No. 37 THE WHITE COCKADE
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
Alas! my love's enlisted,
He wears a white cockade,
He is as gay a gallant,
As any roving blade.
He's gone the king a serving,
The white cockade to wear,
Whilst my poor heart is breaking,
For the love to him I bear.
2
"Leave off your grief and sorrow,
And quit this doleful strain,
The white cockade adorns me
Whilst marching o'er the plain.
When I return I'll marry,
By this cockade I swear.
Your heart from grief must rally,
And my departure bear."
3
"Fair maid, I bring bad tidings."
So did the Sergeant say;
"Your love was slain in battle,
He sends you this to-day,
The white cockade he flourished
Now dabbled in his gore.
With his last kiss he sends it,
The white cockade he wore."
4
She spoke no word--her tears,
They fell a salten flood;
And from the draggled ribbons
Washed out the stains of blood.
"O mother I am dying!
And when in grave I'm laid,
Upon my bosom, mother!
Then pin the white cockade."
No. 38 THE SAILOR'S FAREWELL
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
Farewell! farewell, my Polly dear!
A thousand times adieu!
'Tis sad to part; but never fear,
Your sailor will be true.
And must I go, and leave you so--
While thund'ring billows roar?
I am afraid, my own sweet maid,
Your face I'll see no more.
2
The weavers and the tailors
Are snoring fast asleep,
While we poor 'jolly sailors'
Are tossing on the deep:
Are tossing on the deep, dear girl,
In tempest rage and foam;
When seas run high, and dark the sky,
We think on those at home.
3
When Jack's ashore, safe home once more,
We lead a merry life;
With pipe and glass, and buxom lass,
A sweetheart or a wife;
We call for liquor merrily,
We spend our money free,
And when our money's spent and gone,
Again we go to sea.
4
You'll not know where I am, dear girl,
But when I'm on the sea,
My secret thoughts I will unfurl
In letters home to thee.
The secrets, aye! of heart, I say,
And best of my good will.
My body may lay just where it may
My heart is with you still.
No. 39 A MAIDEN SAT A WEEPING
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
A maiden sat a-weeping
Down by the sea shore,
What ails my pretty mistress?
What ails my pretty mistress?
And makes her heart sore!
2
Because I am a-weary,
A-weary in mind,
No comfort, and no pleasure, love,
No comfort, and no pleasure, love,
Henceforth can I find.
3
I'll spread my sail of silver,
I'll loose my rope of silk,
My mast is of the cypress-tree,
My mast is of the cypress-tree,
My track is as milk.
4
I'll spread my sail of silver
I'll steer toward the sun
And thou, false love wilt weep for me,
And thou, false love wilt weep for me,
For me--when I am gone.
No. 40 THE BLUE KERCHIEF
F.W.B.
[Music]
1
I saw a sweet maiden trip over the lea,
Her eyes were as loadstones attracting of me.
Her cheeks were the roses, that Cupid lurks in,
With a bonny blue kerchief tied under her chin.
2
O where are you going, my fair pretty maid?
O whither so swift through the dew drops? I said,
I go to my mother, kind sir, for to spin.
O the bonny blue kerchief tied under her chin.
3[9]
Why wear you that kerchief tied over your head?
'Tis the country girls' fashion, kind sir, then she said.
And the fashion young maidens will always be in
So I wear a blue kerchief tied under my chin.
4
To kiss her sweet lips then I sought to begin,
O nay Sir! she said, 'ere a kiss you would win,
Pray show me a ring, tho' of gold the most thin.
O slyest blue kerchief tied under the chin!
5
Why wear a _blue_ kerchief, sweet maiden, I said,
Because the blue colour is one not to fade,
As a sailor's blue jacket who fights for the king,
So's my bonny blue kerchief tied under the chin.
6
The love that I value is certain to last,
Not fading and changing, but ever set fast,
That only the colour, my love sir to win,
So goodbye from the kerchief tied under the chin.
[Footnote 9: May be omitted in singing.]
No. 41 COME TO MY WINDOW
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
Come to my window, my Love, O my Love,
Come to my window, my Dear.
For my mammy is asleep,
And my daddy snoreth deep,
Then come, e'er the day-light appear.
2
Come to my window, my Love, O my Love,
Come to my window, I pray.
O the hours so quickly pass,
And the dew falls on the grass.
Dear Love come, e'er dawneth the day.
3
Come to my window, my Love, O my Love,
Come or my heart strings will break.
For the night is speeding by,
Soon will morning streak the sky,
And my dad and my mam will awake.
4
Come to my window, my Love, O my Love,
Come e'er the stars cease to shine.
For my heart is full of fears,
And my voice is chok'd with tears,
I am Thine, O thou know'st I am Thine.
No. 42 TOMMY A' LYNN
C.J.S.
[Music]
1
Tommy a' Lynn was a Dutchman born,
His head was bald and his chin was shorn;
He wore a cap made of rabbit's skin
With the skin side out and the wool within.
All to my tooth and my link-a-lum-lee
Tommy a ranter and a rover,
Tommy a bone of my stover,
Brew, screw, rivet the tin,
O a rare old man was Tommy a' Lynn.
2
Tommy a' Lynn had no boots to put on,
But two calves hides with the hair all gone.
They were split at the side and the water ran in,
I must wear wet feet, said Tommy a' Lynn.
All to my tooth, &c.
3
Tommy a' Lynn has a hunting gone.
A saddle of urchin's skins he put on.
The urchin's prickles were sharp as a pin,
I've got a sore seat, said Tommy a' Lynn.
All to my tooth, &c.
4
Tommy a' Lynn has a hunting gone.
A bridle of mouse tails has he put on.
The bridle broke and the horse ran away,
I'm not well bridled, said Tommy, to-day.
All to my tooth, &c.[10]
5