Books: Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England
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Robert Bell >> Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England
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The next that came in was a tinker,
And he was no small beer drinker,
And he was no strong ale shrinker,
Among the jovial crew:
For his brass nails were made of metal,
And he swore he'd go and mend a kettle,
Good heart, how his hammer and nails did rattle,
When Joan's ale was new!
The next that came in was a tailor,
With his bodkin, shears, and thimble,
He swore he would be nimble
Among the jovial crew:
They sat and they called for ale so stout,
Till the poor tailor was almost broke,
And was forced to go and pawn his coat,
While Joan's ale was new.
The next that came in was a ragman,
With his rag-bag over his shoulder,
Sure no one could be bolder
Among the jovial crew.
They sat and called for pots and glasses,
Till they were all drunk as asses,
And burnt the old ragman's bag to ashes,
While Joan's ale was new.
Ballad: GEORGE RIDLER'S OVEN.
[This ancient Gloucestershire song has been sung at the annual
dinners of the Gloucestershire Society, from the earliest period of
the existence of that institution; and in 1776 there was an
Harmonic Society at Cirencester, which always opened its meetings
with George Ridler's Oven in full chorus.
The substance of the following key to this very curious song is
furnished by Mr. H. Gingell, who extracts it from the Annual Report
of the Gloucestershire Society for 1835. The annual meeting of
this Society is held at Bristol in the month of August, when the
members dine, and a branch meeting, which was formerly held at the
Crown and Anchor in the Strand, is now annually held at the
Thatched House Tavern, St. James's. George Ridler's Oven is sung
at both meetings, and the late Duke of Beaufort used to lead off
the glee in capital style. The words have a secret meaning, well
known to the members of the Gloucestershire Society, which was
founded in 1657, three years before the Restoration of Charles II.
The Society consisted of Royalists, who combined together for the
purpose of restoring the Stuarts. The Cavalier party was supported
by all the old Roman Catholic families of the kingdom; and some of
the Dissenters, who were disgusted with Cromwell, occasionally lent
them a kind of passive aid.
First Verse.--By 'George Ridler' is meant King Charles I. The
'oven' was the Cavalier party. The 'stwons' that 'built the oven,'
and that 'came out of the Bleakney quaar,' were the immediate
followers of the Marquis of Worcester, who held out long and
steadfastly for the Royal cause at Raglan Castle, which was not
surrendered till 1646, and was in fact the last stronghold retained
for the King. 'His head did grow above his hair,' is an allusion
to the crown, the head of the State, which the King wore 'above his
hair.'
Second Verse.--This means that the King, 'before he died,' boasted
that notwithstanding his present adversity, the ancient
constitution of the kingdom was so good, and its vitality so great,
that it would surpass and outlive every other form of government.
Third Verse.--'Dick the treble, Jack the mean, and George the
bass,' mean King, Lords, and Commons. The injunction to 'let every
man sing in his own place,' is a warning to each of the three
estates of the realm to preserve its proper position, and not to
encroach on each other's prerogative.
Fourth Verse.--'Mine hostess's maid' is an allusion to the Queen,
who was a Roman Catholic, and her maid, the Church. The singer we
must suppose was one of the leaders of the party, and his 'dog' a
companion, or faithful official of the Society, and the song was
sung on occasions when the members met together socially; and thus,
as the Roman Catholics were Royalists, the allusion to the mutual
attachment between the 'maid' and 'my dog and I,' is plain and
consistent.
Fifth Verse.--The 'dog' had a 'trick of visiting maids when they
were sick.' The meaning is, that when any of the members were in
distress or desponding, or likely to give up the Royal cause in
despair, the officials, or active members visited, counselled, and
assisted them.
Sixth Verse.--The 'dog' was 'good to catch a hen,' a 'duck,' or a
'goose.'--That is, to enlist as members of the Society any who were
well affected to the Royal cause.
Seventh Verse.--'The good ale tap' is an allusion, under cover of
the similarity in sound between the words ale and aisle, to the
Church, of which it was dangerous at the time to be an avowed
follower; and so the members were cautioned that indiscretion might
lead to their discovery and 'overthrow.'
Eighth Verse.--The allusion here is to those unfaithful supporters
of the Royal cause, who 'welcomed' the members of the Society when
it appeared to be prospering, but 'parted' from them in adversity.
Ninth Verse.--An expression of the singer's wish that if he should
die he may be buried with his faithful companion, as representing
the principles of the Society, under the good aisles of the church.
The following text has been collated with a version published in
Notes and Queries, from the 'fragments of a MS. found in the
speech-house of Dean.' The tune is the same as that of the
Wassailers' Song, and is printed in Popular Music. Other ditties
appear to have been founded on this ancient piece. The fourth,
seventh, and ninth verses are in the old ditty called My Dog and I:
and the eighth verse appears in another old song. The air and
words bear some resemblance to Todlen Hame.]
The stwons that built George Ridler's oven,
And thauy keam vrom the Bleakney quaar,
And George he wur a jolly old mon,
And his yead it grow'd above his yare.
One thing of George Ridler I must commend,
And that wur vor a notable thing;
He mead his brags avoore he died,
Wi' any dree brooders his zons zshould zing.
There's Dick the treble, and John the meean,
(Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace,)
And George he wur the elder brother,
And therevoor he would zing the beass.
Mine hostess's moid, (and her neaum 'twour Nell,)
A pretty wench, and I lov'd her well;
I lov'd her well, good reauzon why,
Because zshe loved my dog and I.
My dog is good to catch a hen;
A dug or goose is vood for men;
And where good company I spy,
O thether gwoes my dog and I.
My mwother told I, when I wur young,
If I did vollow the strong-beer pwoot,
That drenk would prov my awverdrow,
And meauk me wear a threadbare cwoat.
My dog has gotten zitch a trick,
To visit moids when thauy be zick;
When thauy be zick and like to die,
O thether gwoes my dog and I.
When I have dree zixpences under my thumb,
O then I be welcome wherever I come;
But when I have none, O, then I pass by, -
'Tis poverty pearts good companie.
If I should die, as it may hap,
My greauve shall be under the good yeal tap;
In voulded yarms there wool us lie,
Cheek by jowl, my dog and I.
Ballad: THE CARRION CROW.
[This still popular song is quoted by Grose in his Olio, where it
is made the subject of a burlesque commentary, the covert political
allusions having evidently escaped the penetration of the
antiquary. The reader familiar with the annals of the Commonwealth
and the Restoration, will readily detect the leading points of the
allegory. The 'Carrion Crow' in the oak is Charles II., who is
represented as that bird of voracious appetite, because he deprived
the puritan clergy of their livings; perhaps, also, because he
ordered the bodies of the regicides to be exhumed--as Ainsworth
says in one of his ballads:-
The carrion crow is a sexton bold,
He raketh the dead from out of the mould.
The religion of the 'old sow,' whoever she may be, is clearly
pointed out by her little pigs praying for her soul. The 'tailor'
is not easily identified. It is possibly intended for some puritan
divine of the name of Taylor, who wrote and preached against both
prelacy and papacy, but with an especial hatred of the latter. In
the last verse he consoles himself by the reflection that,
notwithstanding the deprivations, his party will have enough
remaining from the voluntary contributions of their adherents. The
'cloak' which the tailor is engaged in cutting out, is the Genevan
gown, or cloak; the 'spoon' in which he desires his wife to bring
treacle, is apparently an allusion to the 'spatula' upon which the
wafer is placed in the administration of the Eucharist; and the
introduction of 'chitterlings and black-puddings' into the last
verse seems to refer to a passage in Rabelais, where the same
dainties are brought in to personify those who, in the matter of
fasting, are opposed to Romish practices. The song is found in
collections of the time of Charles II.]
The carrion crow he sat upon an oak,
And he spied an old tailor a cutting out a cloak.
Heigho! the carrion crow.
The carrion crow he began for to rave,
And he called the tailor a lousy knave!
Heigho! the carrion crow.
'Wife, go fetch me my arrow and my bow,
I'll have a shot at that carrion crow.'
Heigho! the carrion crow.
The tailor he shot, and he missed his mark,
But he shot the old sow through the heart.
Heigho! the carrion crow.
'Wife, go fetch me some treacle in a spoon,
For the old sow's in a terrible swoon!'
Heigho! the carrion crow.
The old sow died, and the bells they did toll,
And the little pigs prayed for the old sow's soul!
Heigho! the carrion crow.
'Never mind,' said the tailor, 'I don't care a flea,
There'll be still black-puddings, souse, and chitterlings for me.'
Heigho! the carrion crow.
Ballad: THE LEATHERN BOTTEL. SOMERSETSHIRE VERSION.
[In Chappell's Popular Music is a much longer version of The
Leathern Bottel. The following copy is the one sung at the present
time by the country-people in the county of Somerset. It has been
communicated to our pages by Mr. Sandys.]
God above, who rules all things,
Monks and abbots, and beggars and kings,
The ships that in the sea do swim,
The earth, and all that is therein;
Not forgetting the old cow's hide,
And everything else in the world beside:
And I wish his soul in heaven may dwell,
Who first invented this leathern bottel!
Oh! what do you say to the glasses fine?
Oh! they shall have no praise of mine;
Suppose a gentleman sends his man
To fill them with liquor, as fast as he can,
The man he falls, in coming away,
And sheds the liquor so fine and gay;
But had it been in the leathern bottel,
And the stopper been in, 'twould all have been well!
Oh! what do you say to the tankard fine?
Oh! it shall have no praise of mine;
Suppose a man and his wife fall out, -
And such things happen sometimes, no doubt, -
They pull and they haul; in the midst of the fray
They shed the liquor so fine and gay;
But had it been in the leathern bottel,
And the stopper been in, 'twould all have been well!
Now, when this bottel it is worn out,
Out of its sides you may cut a clout;
This you may hang upon a pin, -
'Twill serve to put odd trifles in;
Ink and soap, and candle-ends,
For young beginners have need of such friends.
And I wish his soul in heaven may dwell,
Who first invented the leathern bottel!
Ballad: THE FARMER'S OLD WIFE. A SUSSEX WHISTLING SONG.
[This is a countryman's whistling song, and the only one of the
kind which we remember to have heard. It is very ancient, and a
great favourite. The farmer's wife has an adventure somewhat
resembling the hero's in the burlesque version of Don Giovanni.
The tune is Lilli burlero, and the song is sung as follows:- the
first line of each verse is given as a solo; then the tune is
continued by a chorus of whistlers, who whistle that portion of the
air which in Lilli burlero would be sung to the words, Lilli
burlero bullen a la. The songster then proceeds with the tune, and
sings the whole of the verse through, after which the strain is
resumed and concluded by the whistlers. The effect, when
accompanied by the strong whistles of a group of lusty countrymen,
is very striking, and cannot be adequately conveyed by description.
This song constitutes the 'traditionary verses' upon which Burns
founded his Carle of Killyburn Braes.]
There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell,
[Chorus of whistlers.]
There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell,
And he had a bad wife, as many knew well.
[Chorus of whistlers.]
Then Satan came to the old man at the plough, -
'One of your family I must have now.
'It is not your eldest son that I crave,
But it is your old wife, and she I will have.'
'O, welcome! good Satan, with all my heart,
I hope you and she will never more part.'
Now Satan has got the old wife on his back,
And he lugged her along, like a pedlar's pack.
He trudged away till they came to his hall-gate,
Says he, 'Here! take in an old Sussex chap's mate!'
O! then she did kick the young imps about, -
Says one to the other, 'Let's try turn her out.'
She spied thirteen imps all dancing in chains,
She up with her pattens, and beat out their brains.
She knocked the old Satan against the wall, -
'Let's try turn her out, or she'll murder us all!'
Now he's bundled her up on his back amain,
And to her old husband he took her again.
'I have been a tormenter the whole of my life,
But I ne'er was tormenter till I met with your wife.'
Ballad: OLD WICHET AND HIS WIFE.
[This song still retains its popularity in the North of England,
and, when sung with humour, never fails to elicit roars of
laughter. A Scotch version may be found in Herd's Collection,
1769, and also in Cunningham's Songs of England and Scotland,
London, 1835. We cannot venture to give an opinion as to which is
the original; but the English set is of unquestionable antiquity.
Our copy was obtained from Yorkshire. It has been collated with
one printed at the Aldermary press, and preserved in the third
volume of the Roxburgh Collection. The tune is peculiar to the
song.]
O! I went into the stable, and there for to see, {49}
And there I saw three horses stand, by one, by two, and by three;
O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!' quoth she;
'O! what do these three horses here, without the leave of me?'
'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see,
These are three milking cows my mother sent to me?'
'Ods bobs! well done! milking cows with saddles on!
The like was never known!'
Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!
O! I went into the kitchen, and there for to see,
And there I saw three swords hang, by one, by two, quoth she;
O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!'
'O! what do these three swords do here, without the leave of me?'
'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see,
These are three roasting spits my mother sent to me?'
'Ods bobs! well done! roasting spits with scabbards on!
The like was never known!'
Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!
O! I went into the parlour, and there for to see,
And there I saw three cloaks hang, by one, by two, and by three;
O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!' quoth she;
'O! what do these three cloaks do here, without the leave of me?'
'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see,
These are three mantuas my mother sent to me?'
'Ods bobs! well done! mantuas with capes on!
The like was never known!'
Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!
O! I went into the pantry, and there for to see,
And there I saw three pair of boots, {50} by one, by two, and by
three;
O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!' quoth she;
'O! what do these three pair of boots here, without the leave of
me?'
'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see,
These are three pudding-bags my mother sent to me?'
'Ods bobs! well done! pudding-bags with spurs on!
The like was never known!'
Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!
O! I went into the dairy, and there for to see,
And there I saw three hats hang, by one, by two, and by three;
O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!' quoth she;
'Pray what do these three hats here, without the leave of me?'
'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see,
These are three skimming-dishes my mother sent to me?'
'Ods bobs! well done! skimming-dishes with hat-bands on!
The like was never known!'
Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!
O! I went into the chamber, and there for to see,
And there I saw three men in bed, by one, by two, and by three;
O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!' quoth she;
'O! what do these three men here, without the leave of me?'
'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see,
They are three milking-maids my mother sent to me?'
'Ods bobs! well done! milking-maids with beards on!
The like was never known!'
Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!
Ballad: THE JOLLY WAGGONER.
[This country song can be traced back a century at least, but is,
no doubt, much older. It is very popular in the West of England.
The words are spirited and characteristic. We may, perhaps, refer
the song to the days of transition, when the waggon displaced the
packhorse.]
When first I went a-waggoning, a-waggoning did go,
I filled my parents' hearts full of sorrow, grief, and woe. {51}
And many are the hardships that I have since gone through.
And sing wo, my lads, sing wo!
Drive on my lads, I-ho! {52}
And who wouldn't lead the life of a jolly waggoner?
It is a cold and stormy night, and I'm wet to the skin,
I will bear it with contentment till I get unto the inn.
And then I'll get a drinking with the landlord and his kin.
And sing, &c.
Now summer it is coming,--what pleasure we shall see;
The small birds are a-singing on every green tree,
The blackbirds and the thrushes are a-whistling merrilie.
And sing, &c.
Now Michaelmas is coming,--what pleasure we shall find;
It will make the gold to fly, my boys, like chaff before the wind;
And every lad shall take his lass, so loving and so kind.
And sing, &c.
Ballad: THE YORKSHIRE HORSE-DEALER.
[This ludicrous and genuine Yorkshire song, the production of some
unknown country minstrel, obtained considerable popularity a few
years ago from the admirable singing of Emery. The incidents
actually occurred at the close of the last century, and some of the
descendants of 'Tommy Towers' were resident at Clapham till within
a very recent period, and used to take great delight in relating
the laughable adventure of their progenitor. Abey Muggins is
understood to be a sobriquet for a then Clapham innkeeper. The
village of Clapham is in the west of Yorkshire, on the high road
between Skipton and Kendal.]
Bane {53} ta Claapam town-gate {54} lived an ond Yorkshire tike,
Who i' dealing i' horseflesh hed ne'er met his like;
'Twor his pride that i' aw the hard bargains he'd hit,
He'd bit a girt monny, but nivver bin bit.
This ond Tommy Towers (bi that naam he wor knaan),
Hed an oud carrion tit that wor sheer skin an' baan;
Ta hev killed him for t' curs wad hev bin quite as well,
But 'twor Tommy opinion {55} he'd dee on himsel!
Well! yan Abey Muggins, a neighborin cheat,
Thowt ta diddle ond Tommy wad be a girt treat;
Hee'd a horse, too, 'twor war than ond Tommy's, ye see,
Fort' neet afore that hee'd thowt proper ta dee!
Thinks Abey, t' oud codger 'll nivver smoak t' trick,
I'll swop wi' him my poor deead horse for his wick, {56}
An' if Tommy I nobbut {57} can happen ta trap,
'Twill be a fine feather i' Aberram cap!
Soa to Tommy he goas, an' the question he pops:
'Betwin thy horse and mine, prithee, Tommy, what swops?
What wilt gi' me ta boot? for mine's t'better horse still!'
'Nout,' says Tommy, 'I'll swop ivven hands, an' ye will.'
Abey preaached a lang time about summat ta boot,
Insistin' that his war the liveliest brute;
But Tommy stuck fast where he first had begun,
Till Abey shook hands, and sed, 'Well, Tommy, done!
'O! Tommy,' sed Abey, 'I'ze sorry for thee,
I thowt thou'd a hadden mair white i' thy 'ee;
Good luck's wi' thy bargin, for my horse is deead.'
'Hey!' says Tommy, 'my lad, soa is min, an it's fleead?'
Soa Tommy got t' better of t' bargin, a vast,
An' cam off wi' a Yorkshireman's triumph at last;
For thof 'twixt deead horses there's not mitch to choose,
Yet Tommy war richer by t' hide an' fower shooes.
Ballad: THE KING AND THE COUNTRYMAN.
[This popular favourite is a mere abridgment and alteration of a
poem preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, called The King and
Northern Man, shewing how a poor Northumberland man (tenant to the
King) being wronged by a lawyer (his neighbour) went to the King
himself to make known his grievance. To the tune of Slut. Printed
by and for Alex. Melbourne, at the Stationer's Arms in Green Arbour
Court, in the Little Old Baily. The Percy Society printed The King
and Northern Man from an edition published in 1640. There is also
a copy preserved in the Bagford Collection, which is one of the
imprints of W. Onley. The edition of 1640 has the initials of
Martin Parker at the end, but, as Mr. Collier observes, 'There is
little doubt that the story is much older than 1640.' See preface
to Percy Society's Edition.]
There was an old chap in the west country,
A flaw in the lease the lawyers had found,
'Twas all about felling of five oak trees,
And building a house upon his own ground.
Right too looral, looral, looral--right too looral la!
Now, this old chap to Lunnun would go,
To tell the king a part of his woe,
Likewise to tell him a part of his grief,
In hopes the king would give him relief.
Now, when this old chap to Lunnun had come,
He found the king to Windsor had gone;
But if he'd known he'd not been at home,
He danged his buttons if ever he'd come.
Now, when this old chap to Windsor did stump,
The gates were barred, and all secure,
But he knocked and thumped with his oaken clump,
There's room within for I to be sure.
But when he got there, how he did stare,
To see the yeomen strutting about;
He scratched his head, and rubbed down his hair,
In the ear of a noble he gave a great shout:
'Pray, Mr. Noble, show I the King;
Is that the King that I see there?
I seed an old chap at Bartlemy fair
Look more like a king than that chap there.
'Well, Mr. King, pray how d'ye do?
I gotten for you a bit of a job,
Which if you'll be so kind as to do,
I gotten a summat for you in my fob.'
The king he took the lease in hand,
To sign it, too, he was likewise willing;
And the old chap to make a little amends,
He lugg'd out his bag, and gave him a shilling.
The king, to carry on the joke,
Ordered ten pounds to be paid down;
The farmer he stared, but nothing spoke,
And stared again, and he scratched his crown.
The farmer he stared to see so much money,
And to take it up he was likewise willing;
But if he'd a known King had got so much money,
He danged his wig if he'd gien him that shilling!
Ballad: JONE O' GREENFIELD'S RAMBLE.
[The county of Lancaster has always been famed for its admirable
patois songs; but they are in general the productions of modern
authors, and consequently, however popular they may be, are not
within the scope of the present work. In the following humorous
production, however, we have a composition of the last century. It
is the oldest and most popular Lancashire song we have been able to
procure; and, unlike most pieces of its class, it is entirely free
from grossness and vulgarity.]
Says Jone to his wife, on a hot summer's day,
'I'm resolved i' Grinfilt no lunger to stay;
For I'll go to Owdham os fast os I can,
So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, un fare thee weel, Nan;
A soger I'll be, un brave Owdham I'll see,
Un I'll ha'e a battle wi' th' French.'
'Dear Jone,' then said Nan, un hoo bitterly cried,
Wilt be one o' th' foote, or tha meons to ride?'
'Odsounds! wench, I'll ride oather ass or a mule,
Ere I'll kewer i' Grinfilt os black as te dule,
Booath clemmink {58} un starvink, un never a fardink,
Ecod! it would drive ony mon mad.
'Aye, Jone, sin' wi' coom i' Grinfilt for t' dwell,
We'n had mony a bare meal, I con vara weel tell.'
'Bare meal! ecod! aye, that I vara weel know,
There's bin two days this wick ot we'n had nowt at o:
I'm vara near sided, afore I'll abide it,
I'll feight oather Spanish or French.'
Then says my Aunt Marget, 'Ah! Jone, thee'rt so hot,
I'd ne'er go to Owdham, boh i' Englond I'd stop.'
'It matters nowt, Madge, for to Owdham I'll go,
I'll naw clam to deeoth, boh sumbry shalt know:
Furst Frenchman I find, I'll tell him meh mind,
Un if he'll naw feight, he shall run.'
Then down th' broo I coom, for we livent at top,
I thowt I'd reach Owdharn ere ever I'd stop;
Ecod! heaw they stared when I getten to th' Mumps,
Meh owd hat i' my hond, un meh clogs full o'stumps;
Boh I soon towd um, I'r gooink to Owdham,
Un I'd ha'e battle wi' th' French.
I kept eendway thro' th' lone, un to Owdham I went,
I ask'd a recruit if te'd made up their keawnt?
'No, no, honest lad' (for he tawked like a king),
'Go wi' meh thro' the street, un thee I will bring
Where, if theaw'rt willink, theaw may ha'e a shillink.'
Ecod! I thowt this wur rare news.
He browt me to th' pleck where te measurn their height,
Un if they bin height, there's nowt said about weight;
I retched me, un stretched me, un never did flinch,
Says th' mon, 'I believe theaw 'rt meh lad to an inch.'
I thowt this'll do, I'st ha'e guineas enow,
Ecod! Owdham, brave Owdham for me.
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