Books: Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England

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Enter CLOWN, who sings in a sort of chant, or recitative.

I open this door, I enter in,
I hope your favour for to win;
Whether we shall stand or fall,
We do endeavour to please you all.

A room! a room! a gallant room,
A room to let us ride!
We are not of the raggald sort,
But of the royal tribe:
Stir up the fire, and make a light,
To see the bloody act to-night!

Here another of the party introduces his companions by singing to a
violin accompaniment, as follows:

Here's two or three jolly boys, all in one mind;
We've come a pace-egging, {44} I hope you'll prove kind:
I hope you'll prove kind with your money and beer,
We shall come no more near you until the next year.
Fal de ral, lal de lal, &c.

The first that steps up is Lord [Nelson] {45} you'll see,
With a bunch of blue ribbons tied down to his knee;
With a star on his breast, like silver doth shine;
I hope you'll remember this pace-egging time.
Fal de ral, &c.

O! the next that steps up is a jolly Jack tar,
He sailed with Lord [Nelson], during last war:
He's right on the sea, Old England to view:
He's come a pace-egging with so jolly a crew.
Fal de ral, &c.

O! the next that steps up is old Toss-Pot, you'll see,
He's a valiant old man, in every degree,
He's a valiant old man, and he wears a pig-tail;
And all his delight is drinking mulled ale.
Fal de ral, &c.

O! the next that steps up is old Miser, you'll see;
She heaps up her white and her yellow money;
She wears her old rags till she starves and she begs;
And she's come here to ask for a dish of pace eggs.
Fal de ral, &a

The characters being thus duly introduced, the following lines are
sung in chorus by all the party.

Gentlemen and ladies, that sit by the fire,
Put your hand in your pocket, 'tis all we desire;
Put your hand in your pocket, and pull out your purse,
And give us a trifle,--you'll not be much worse.

Here follows a dance, and this is generally succeeded by a dialogue
of an ad libitum character, which varies in different districts,
being sometimes similar to the one performed by the sword-dancers.

Ballad: GLOUCESTERSHIRE WASSAILERS' SONG.

[It is still customary in many parts of England to hand round the
wassail, or health-bowl, on New-Year's Eve. The custom is supposed
to be of Saxon origin, and to be derived from one of the
observances of the Feast of Yule. The tune of this song is given
in Popular Music. It is a universal favourite in Gloucestershire,
particularly in the neighbourhood of

'Stair on the wold,
Where the winds blow cold,'

as the old rhyme says.]

Wassail! wassail! all over the town,
Our toast it is white, and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl is made of a maplin tree;
We be good fellows all;--I drink to thee.

Here's to our horse, {46} and to his right ear,
God send our measter a happy new year:
A happy new year as e'er he did see, -
With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.

Here's to our mare, and to her right eye,
God send our mistress a good Christmas pie;
A good Christmas pie as e'er I did see, -
With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.

Here's to our cow, and to her long tail,
God send our measter us never may fail
Of a cup of good beer: I pray you draw near,
And our jolly wassail it's then you shall hear.

Be here any maids? I suppose here be some;
Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone!
Sing hey O, maids! come trole back the pin,
And the fairest maid in the house let us all in.

Come, butler, come, bring us a bowl of the best;
I hope your soul in heaven will rest;
But if you do bring us a bowl of the small,
Then down fall butler, and bowl and all.

Ballad: THE MUMMERS' SONG; OR, THE POOR OLD HORSE.

As sung by the Mummers in the Neighbourhood of Richmond, Yorkshire,
at the merrie time of Christmas.

[The rustic actor who sings the following song is dressed as an old
horse, and at the end of every verse the jaws are snapped in
chorus. It is a very old composition, and is now printed for the
first time. The 'old horse' is, probably, of Scandinavian origin,-
-a reminiscence of Odin's Sleipnor.]

You gentlemen and sportsmen,
And men of courage bold,
All you that's got a good horse,
Take care of him when he is old;
Then put him in your stable,
And keep him there so warm;
Give him good corn and hay,
Pray let him take no harm.
Poor old horse! poor old horse!

Once I had my clothing
Of linsey-woolsey fine,
My tail and mane of length,
And my body it did shine;
But now I'm growing old,
And my nature does decay,
My master frowns upon me,
These words I heard him say, -
Poor old horse! poor old horse!

These pretty little shoulders,
That once were plump and round,
They are decayed and rotten, -
I'm afraid they are not sound.
Likewise these little nimble legs,
That have run many miles,
Over hedges, over ditches,
Over valleys, gates, and stiles.
Poor old horse! poor old horse!

I used to be kept
On the best corn and hay
That in fields could be grown,
Or in any meadows gay;
But now, alas! it's not so, -
There's no such food at all!
I'm forced to nip the short grass
That grows beneath your wall.
Poor old horse! poor old horse!

I used to be kept up
All in a stable warm,
To keep my tender body
From any cold or harm;
But now I'm turned out
In the open fields to go,
To face all kinds of weather,
The wind, cold, frost, and snow.
Poor old horse! poor old horse!

My hide unto the huntsman
So freely I would give,
My body to the hounds,
For I'd rather die than live:
So shoot him, whip him, strip him,
To the huntsman let him go;
For he's neither fit to ride upon,
Nor in any team to draw.
Poor old horse! you must die!

Ballad: FRAGMENT OF THE HAGMENA SONG.

As sung at Richmond, Yorkshire, on the eve of the New Year, by the
Corporation Pinder.

[The custom of singing Hagmena songs is observed in different parts
of both England and Scotland. The origin of the term is a matter
of dispute. Some derive it from 'au guy l'an neuf,' i.e., TO THE
MISLETOE THIS NEW YEAR, and a French Hagmena song still in use
seems to give some authority to such a derivation; others,
dissatisfied with a heathen source, find the term to be a
corruption of [Greek text which cannot be reproduced], i.e., THE
HOLY MONTH. The Hagmena songs are sometimes sung on Christmas Eve
and a few of the preceding nights, and sometimes, as at Richmond,
on the eve of the new year. For further information the reader is
referred to Brand's Popular Antiquities, vol. i. 247-8, Sir H.
Ellis's edit. 1842.]

To-night it is the New-year's night, to-morrow is the day,
And we are come for our right, and for our ray,
As we used to do in old King Henry's day.
Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh.

If you go to the bacon-flick, cut me a good bit;
Cut, cut and low, beware of your maw;
Cut, cut and round, beware of your thumb,
That me and my merry men may have some,
Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh.

If you go to the black-ark, bring me X mark;
Ten mark, ten pound, throw it down upon the ground,
That me and my merry men may have some.
Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh.

Ballad: THE GREENSIDE WAKES SONG.

[The wakes, feasts, or tides of the North of England, were
originally religious festivals in honour of the saints to whom the
parish churches were dedicated. But now-a-days, even in Catholic
Lancashire, all traces of their pristine character have departed,
and the hymns and prayers by which their observance was once
hallowed have given place to dancing and merry-making. At
Greenside, near Manchester, during the wakes, two persons, dressed
in a grotesque manner, the one a male, the other a female, appear
in the village on horseback, with spinning-wheels before them; and
the following is the dialogue, or song, which they sing on these
occasions.]

''Tis Greenside wakes, we've come to the town
To show you some sport of great renown;
And if my old wife will let me begin,
I'll show you how fast and how well I can spin.
Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, den, don, dell O.'

'Thou brags of thyself, but I don't think it true,
For I will uphold thy faults are not a few;
For when thou hast done, and spun very hard,
Of this I'm well sure, thy work is ill marred.
Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, den, don, dell O.'

'Thou'rt a saucy old jade, and pray hold thy tongue,
Or I shall be thumping thee ere it be long;
And if that I do, I shall make thee to rue,
For I can have many a one as good as you.
Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.'

'What is it to me who you can have?
I shall not be long ere I'm laid in my grave;
And when I am dead you may find if you can,
One that'll spin as hard as I've done.
Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.'

'Come, come, my dear wife, here endeth my song,
I hope it has pleased this numerous throng;
But if it has missed, you need not to fear,
We'll do our endeavour to please them next year.
Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.'

Ballad: THE SWEARING-IN SONG OR RHYME.

As formerly sung or said at Highgate, in the county of Middlesex.

[The proverb, 'He has been sworn at Highgate,' is more widely
circulated than understood. In its ordinary signification it is
applied to a 'knowing' fellow who is well acquainted with the 'good
things,' and always helps himself to the best; and it has its
origin in an old usage still kept up at Highgate, in Middlesex.
Grose, in his Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, London,
1785, says, -

A ridiculous custom formerly prevailed at the public-houses of
Highgate, to administer a ludicrous oath to all the men of the
middling rank who stopped there. The party was sworn on a pair of
horns fastened on a stick; the substance of the oath was never to
kiss the maid when he could kiss the mistress, never to drink small
beer when be could get strong, with many other injunctions of the
like kind to all of which was added a saving clause--Unless you
like it best! The person administering the oath was always to be
called father by the juror, and he in return was to style him son,
under the penalty of a bottle.

From this extract it is evident that in 1786 the custom was
ancient, and had somewhat fallen into desuetude. Hone's Year-Book
contains a very complete account of the ceremony, with full
particulars of the mode in which the 'swearing-in' was then
performed in the 'Fox under the Hill.' Hone does not throw any
light on the origin of the practice, nor does he seem to have been
aware of its comparative antiquity. He treated the ceremony as a
piece of modern foolery, got up by some landlord for 'the good of
the house,' and adopted from the same interested motive by others
of the tribe. A subsequent correspondent of Mr. Hone, however,
points out the antiquity of the custom, and shows that it could be
traced back long before the year 1782, when it was introduced into
a pantomime called Harlequin Teague; or, the Giant's Causeway,
which was performed at the Haymarket on Saturday, August 17, 1782.
One of the scenes was Highgate, where, in the 'parlour' of a public
house, the ceremony was performed. Mr. Hone's correspondent sends
a copy of the old initiation song, which varies considerably from
our version, supplied to us in 1851 by a very old man (an ostler)
at Highgate. The reciter said that the COPY OF VERSES was not
often used now, as there was no landlord who could sing, and
gentlemen preferred the speech. He said, moreover, 'that the
verses were not always alike--some said one way, and some another--
some made them long, and some CUT 'EM SHORT.'

Grose was in error when he supposed that the ceremony was confined
to the inferior classes, for even in his day such was not the case.
In subsequent times the oath has been frequently taken by people of
rank, and also by several persons of the highest literary and
political celebrity. An inspection of any one of the register-
books will show that the jurors have belonged to all sorts of
classes, and that amongst them the Harrovians have always made a
conspicuous figure. When the stage-coaches ceased to pass through
the village in consequence of the opening of railways, the custom
declined, and was kept up only at three houses, which were called
the 'original house,' the 'old original,' and the 'real old
original.' Two of the above houses have latterly ceased to hold
courts, and the custom is now confined to the 'Fox under the Hill,'
where the rite is celebrated with every attention to ancient forms
and costume, and for a fee which, in deference to modern notions of
economy, is only one shilling.

Byron, in the first canto of Childe Harold, alludes to the custom
of Highgate:-

Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribboned fair,
Others along the safer turnpike fly;
Some Richmond-hill ascend, some wend to Wara
And many to the steep of Highgate hie.
Ask ye, Boeotian shades! the reason why?
'Tis to the worship of the solemn horn,
Grasped in the holy hand of mystery,
In whose dread name both men and maids {47} are sworn,
And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn.

Canto I, stanza 70.]

Enter LANDLORD, dressed in a black gown and bands, and wearing an
antique-fashioned wig, followed by the CLERK OF THE COURT, also in
appropriate costume, and carrying the registry-book and the horns.

Landlord. Do you wish to be sworn at Highgate?
Candidate. I do, Father.
Clerk. Amen.

The LANDLORD then sings, or says, as follows:-

Silence! O, yes! you are my son!
Full to your old father turn, sir;
This is an oath you may take as you run,
So lay your hand thus on the horn, sir.

Here the CANDIDATE places his right hand on the horn.

You shall spend not with cheaters or cozeners your life,
Nor waste it on profligate beauty;
And when you are wedded be kind to your wife,
And true to all petticoat duty.

The CANDIDATE says 'I will,' and kisses the horn in obedience to
the command of the CLERK, who exclaims in a loud and solemn tone,
'Kiss the horn, sir!'

And while you thus solemnly swear to be kind,
And shield and protect from disaster,
This part of your oath you must bear it in mind,
That you, and not she, is the master.

Clerk. 'Kiss the horn, sir!'

You shall pledge no man first when a woman is near,
For neither 'tis proper nor right, sir;
Nor, unless you prefer it, drink small for strong beer,
Nor eat brown bread when you can get white, sir.

Clerk. 'Kiss the horn, sir!'

You shall never drink brandy when wine you can get,
Say when good port or sherry is handy;
Unless that your taste on spirit is set,
In which case--you MAY, sir, drink brandy!

Clerk. 'Kiss the horn, sir!'

To kiss with the maid when the mistress is kind,
Remember that you must be loth, sir;
But if the maid's fairest, your oath doesn't bind, -
Or you may, if you like it, kiss both, sir!

Clerk. 'Kiss the horn, sir!'

Should you ever return, take this oath here again,
Like a man of good sense, leal and true, sir;
And be sure to bring with you some more merry men,
That they on the horn may swear too, sir.

Landlord. Now, sir, if you please, sign your name in that book,
and if you can't write, make your mark, and the clerk of the court
will attest it.

Here one of the above requests is complied with.

Landlord. You will please pay half-a-crown for court fees, and
what you please to the clerk.

This necessary ceremony being gone through, the important business
terminates by the LANDLORD saying, 'God bless the King [or Queen]
and the lord of the manor;' to which the CLERK responds, 'Amen,
amen!'

N.B. The court fees are always returned in wines, spirits, or
porter, of which the Landlord and Clerk are invited to partake.

Ballad: FAIRLOP FAIR SONG.

[The following song is sung at Fairlop fair, one of the gayest of
the numerous saturnalia kept by the good citizens of London. The
venerable oak has disappeared; but the song is nevertheless song,
and the curious custom of riding through the fair, seated in boats,
still continues to be observed.]

Come, come, my boys, with a hearty glee,
To Fairlop fair, bear chorus with me;
At Hainault forest is known very well,
This famous oak has long bore the bell.

Cho. Let music sound as the boat goes round,
If we tumble on the ground, we'll be merry, I'll be bound;
We will booze it away, dull care we will defy,
And be happy on the first Friday in July.

At Tainhall forest, Queen Anne she did ride,
And beheld the beautiful oak by her side,
And after viewing it from bottom to top,
She said that her court should be at Fairlop.

It is eight fathom round, spreads an acre of ground,
They plastered it round to keep the tree sound.
So we'll booze it away, dull care we'll defy,
And be happy on the first Friday in July.

About a century ago, as I have heard say,
This fair it was kept by one Daniel Day,
A hearty good fellow as ever could be,
His coffin was made of a limb of the tree.

With black-strap and perry he made his friends merry,
All sorrow for to drown with brandy and sherry.
So we'll booze it away, dull care we'll defy,
And be happy on the first Friday in July.

At Tainhall forest there stands a tree,
And it has performed a wonderful bounty,
It is surrounded by woods and plains,
The merry little warblers chant their strains.

So we'll dance round the tree, and merry we will be,
Every year we'll agree the fair for to see;
And we'll booze it away, dull care we'll defy,
And be happy on the first Friday in July.

Ballad: AS TOM WAS A-WALKING. AN ANCIENT CORNISH SONG.

[This song, said to be translated from the Cornish, 'was taken
down,' says Mr. Sandys, 'from the recital of a modern Corypheus, or
leader of a parish choir,' who assigned to it a very remote, but
indefinite, antiquity.]

As Tom was a-walking one fine summer's morn,
When the dazies and goldcups the fields did adorn;
He met Cozen Mal, with a tub on her head,
Says Tom, 'Cozen Mal, you might speak if you we'd.'

But Mal stamped along, and appeared to be shy,
And Tom singed out, 'Zounds! I'll knaw of thee why?'
So back he tore a'ter, in a terrible fuss,
And axed cozen Mal, 'What's the reason of thus?'

'Tom Treloar,' cried out Mal, 'I'll nothing do wi' 'ee,
Go to Fanny Trembaa, she do knaw how I'm shy;
Tom, this here t'other daa, down the hill thee didst stap,
And dab'd a great doat fig {48} in Fan Trembaa's lap.'

'As for Fanny Trembaa, I ne'er taalked wi' her twice,
And gived her a doat fig, they are so very nice;
So I'll tell thee, I went to the fear t'other day,
And the doat figs I boft, why I saved them away.'

Says Mal, 'Tom Treloar, ef that be the caase,
May the Lord bless for ever that sweet pretty faace;
Ef thee'st give me thy doat figs thee'st boft in the fear,
I'll swear to thee now, thee shu'st marry me here.'

Ballad: THE MILLER AND HIS SONS.

[A miller, especially if he happen to be the owner of a soke-mill,
has always been deemed fair game for the village satirist. Of the
numerous songs written in ridicule of the calling of the 'rogues in
grain,' the following is one of the best and most popular: its
quaint humour will recommend it to our readers. For the tune, see
Popular Music.]

There was a crafty miller, and he
Had lusty sons, one, two, and three:
He called them all, and asked their will,
If that to them he left his mill.

He called first to his eldest son,
Saying, 'My life is almost run;
If I to you this mill do make,
What toll do you intend to take?'

'Father,' said he, 'my name is Jack;
Out of a bushel I'll take a peck,
From every bushel that I grind,
That I may a good living find.'

'Thou art a fool!' the old man said,
'Thou hast not well learned thy trade;
This mill to thee I ne'er will give,
For by such toll no man can live.'

He called for his middlemost son,
Saying, 'My life is almost run;
If I to you this mill do make,
What toll do you intend to take?'

'Father,' says he, 'my name is Ralph;
Out of a bushel I'll take a half,
From every bushel that I grind,
That I may a good living find.'

'Thou art a fool!' the old man said,
'Thou hast not well learned thy trade;
This mill to thee I ne'er will give,
For by such toll no man can live.'

He called for his youngest son,
Saying, 'My life is almost run;
If I to you this mill do make,
What toll do you intend to take?'

'Father,' said he, 'I'm your only boy,
For taking toll is all my joy!
Before I will a good living lack,
I'll take it all, and forswear the sack!'

'Thou art my boy!' the old man said,
'For thou hast right well learned thy trade;
This mill to thee I give,' he cried, -
And then he turned up his toes and died.

Ballad: JACK AND TOM. AN OULD BORDER DITTIE. (TRADITIONAL.)

[The following song was taken down from recitation in 1847. Of its
history nothing is known; but we are strongly inclined to believe
that it may be assigned to the early part of the seventeenth
century, and that it relates to the visit of Prince Charles and
Buckingham, under the assumed names of Jack and Tom, to Spain, in
1623. Some curious references to the adventures of the Prince and
his companion, on their masquerading tour, will be found in
Halliwell's Letters of the Kings of England, vol. ii.]

I'm a north countrie-man, in Redesdale born,
Where our land lies lea, and grows ne corn, -
And such two lads to my house never com,
As them two lads called Jack and Tom!

Now, Jack and Tom, they're going to the sea;
I wish them both in good companie!
They're going to seek their fortunes ayont the wide sea,
Far, far away frae their oan countrie!

They mounted their horses, and rode over the moor,
Till they came to a house, when they rapped at the door;
And out came Jockey, the hostler-man.
'D'ye brew ony ale? D'ye sell ony beer?
Or have ye ony lodgings for strangers here?'

'Ne, we brew ne ale, nor we sell ne beer,
Nor we have ne lodgings for strangers here.'
So he bolted the door, and bade them begone,
For there was ne lodgings there for poor Jack and Tom.

They mounted their horses, and rode over the plain; -
Dark was the night, and down fell the rain;
Till a twinkling light they happened to spy,
And a castle and a house they were close by.

They rode up to the house, and they rapped at the door,
And out came Jockey, the hosteler.
'D'ye brew ony ale? D'ye sell ony beer?
Or have ye ony lodgings for strangers here?'

'Yes, we have brewed ale this fifty lang year,
And we have got lodgings for strangers here.'
So the roast to the fire, and the pot hung on,
'Twas all to accommodate poor Jack and Tom.

When supper was over, and all was SIDED DOWN,
The glasses of wine did go merrily roun'.
'Here is to thee, Jack, and here is to thee,
And all the bonny lasses in our countrie!'
'Here is to thee, Tom, and here is to thee,
And look they may LEUK for thee and me!'

'Twas early next morning, before the break of day,
They mounted their horses, and so they rode away.
Poor Jack, he died upon a far foreign shore,
And Tom, he was never, never heard of more!

Ballad: JOAN'S ALE WAS NEW.

[Ours is the common version of this popular song; it varies
considerably from the one given by D'Urfey, in the Pills to purge
Melancholy. From the names of Nolly and Joan and the allusion to
ale, we are inclined to consider the song as a lampoon levelled at
Cromwell, and his wife, whom the Royalist party nick-named 'Joan.'
The Protector's acquaintances (depicted as low and vulgar
tradesmen) are here humorously represented paying him a
congratulatory visit on his change of fortune, and regaling
themselves with the 'Brewer's' ale. The song is mentioned in
Thackeray's Catalogue, under the title of Joan's Ale's New; which
may be regarded as circumstantial evidence in favour of our
hypothesis. The air is published in Popular Music, accompanying
three stanzas of a version copied from the Douce collection. The
first verse in Mr. Chappell's book runs as follows:-

There was a jovial tinker,
Who was a good ale drinker,
He never was a shrinker,
Believe me this is true;
And he came from the Weald of Kent,
When all his money was gone and spent,
Which made him look like a Jack a-lent.
And Joan's ale is new, my boys,
And Joan's ale is new.]

There were six jovial tradesmen,
And they all sat down to drinking,
For they were a jovial crew;
They sat themselves down to be merry;
And they called for a bottle of sherry,
You're welcome as the hills, says Nolly,
While Joan's ale is new, brave boys,
While Joan's ale is new.

The first that came in was a soldier,
With his firelock over his shoulder,
Sure no one could be bolder,
And a long broad-sword he drew:
He swore he would fight for England's ground,
Before the nation should be run down;
He boldly drank their healths all round,
While Joan's ale was new.

The next that came in was a hatter,
Sure no one could be blacker,
And he began to chatter,
Among the jovial crew:
He threw his hat upon the ground,
And swore every man should spend his pound,
And boldly drank their hearths all round,
While Joan's ale was new.

The next that came in was a dyer,
And he sat himself down by the fire,
For it was his heart's desire
To drink with the jovial crew:
He told the landlord to his face,
The chimney-corner should be his place,
And there he'd sit and dye his face,
While Joan's ale was new.

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