And three times a day did my Colly give milk;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.
7
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.
8
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]
1
Within a garden a maiden lingered,
When soft the shades of evening fell,
Expecting, fearing,
A footstep hearing,
Her love appearing,
To say farewell.
2
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.
3
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]
1
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.
2
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.
3
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.
4
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.
5
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.
6
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]
1
'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.
2
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.
3
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.
4
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.'
5
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.
6
'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.'
7
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]
1
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.
2
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.
3
['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]
4
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.
5
[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]
6
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.
7
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]
1
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.
2
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.
3
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]
1
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!
2
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.
3
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.
4
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.
5
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]
1
'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."
2
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."
3
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.
4
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]
1
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.
2
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.
3
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.
4
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.
7
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.
8
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]
1
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.
2
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.
3
"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.
4
"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]
1
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?
2
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.
3
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.
4
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.
5
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.
6
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]
1
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.
2
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.
3
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]
1
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.
2
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.
3
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.
4
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]
1
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!
2
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.
3
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.
4
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.
5
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.
6
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.
7
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]
1
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.
2
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.
3
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]
1
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.
2
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.
3
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.
4
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.
5
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]
1
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.
2
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]
1
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.
2
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.
3
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.
4
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."