There were two great periods of song collecting activity for Sharp. The first was his work in Somerset and parts of Devon culminating in the publication of 'Folk Songs from Somerset' in around 1905. About ten years later, he and Maud Karpeles were collecting songs in the Appalachian Mountains in the United States.
At other times, he was founding the English Folk Dance Society, campaigning for the inclusion of folk song and dance in the school curriculum, collecting Cotswold morris dances and publishing the Morris Dance Books, collecting the longsword dances of North Yorkshire for publication as The Sword Dances of England, and collecting and documenting country dances in The Country Dance Books.
Song collecting didn't exactly take a back seat during these years, but, when you look at the locations, you can link them to his other activities. Thus, songs were collected in Bampton and Headington (Oxfordshire) and Ilmington in Warwickshire (all Cotswold morris villages), and in Goathland, where he collected the local sword dance. In the West Midlands, he was also active in Herefordshire (where he looked for informants on the Border morris dances) and around Armscote in Warwickshire, where he collected many of the dances and tunes published in The Country Dance Books volume 1.
Sung by Thomas Taylor (67) at Ross Workhouse, Herefordshire, 10th September 1921.
It was of a farmer in Cheshire did dwell,
Sing laddie I day,
And by the old devil was known very well,
Sing fol de rol laddie I day.
The devil came to him one day to his plough,
Saying: One of your family I must have now.
I don't want thee nor thy son Jack,
But it's thy old bitch of a wife I'll have.
The old devil he tumbled her into his sack
Just like an old pedlar a-carrying his pack.
He took her and threw her down at hell's door,
And bade her stay there, not to rise any more.
Up come the young devils all fettered in chains,
She up with her pattens and beat out their brains.
The odd little devil peeped over the wall,
Saying: Take her back, daddy, or she'll kill us all.
So he hoist her up all on his back
And like an old pedlar went packing her back.
The women they are so much better than men,
When they go to hell they're sent back again.
Sung by Tom Gardiner (70) at Blackwell, Warwickshire, 9th September 1909.
Bold Nelson's praise I'm going to sing,
Not forgetting our glorious king,
He always did good tidings bring
For he was a good commander.
There's Sydney Smith and Duncan too,
Lord Howe and all the jovial crew
And they were the men that were true blue,
Full of care, yet I swear
None with Nelson could compare
Not even Alexander.
Bold Bonaparte he threatened war,
A man who feared no wound nor scar,
But still he lost at Trafalgar,
Where Britain was victorious.
Lord Nelson's actions made him quake
And all French powers he made to shake.
He said his King he'd ne'er forsake.
These last words thus he spake:
Stand true, my lads, like hearts of oak
And the battle shall be glorious.
Lord Nelson bold, though threatened wide,
And many a time he had been tried,
He fought like a hero till he died
Amid the battle gory.
But the day was won, their line was broke,
While all around was lost in smoke,
And Nelson he got his death stroke.
That's the man for old England.
He faced his foe with his sword in hand
And he lived and he died in his glory.
Sung by Mrs Ellen Plumb (85) at Armscote, Warwickshire, 13th April 1911.
Joseph was an old man,
An old man was he,
He married with Mary,
The Queen of Glory.
Joseph took Mary
Into the orchard wood
Where there was apples, plums, cherries,
As red as any blood.
Then bespoke Mary
So meek and so mild:
Get me some cherries, Joseph,
For my body's bound with child.
Then bespoke Joseph
These words so unkind:
Let them get you cherries, Mary,
That did your body bind.
Then bespake Jesus
All in his mother's womb:
The highest bough of the cherry tree
Shall bow down to Mary's knee.
Mary got cherries,
By one, two and three,
Mary got cherries
For her young son and she.
Sung by Mrs Beechy at Shipston-on-Stour, Warwickshire, 22nd August 1911.
As I sat on a sunny bank,
A sunny bank, a sunny bank,
As I sat on a sunny bank
On Christmas day in the morning.
I saw three ships come sailing by,
Come sailing by, come sailing by,
I saw three ships come sailing by,
On Christmas day in the morning.
And who do you think were on the ship,
Were on the ship, were on the ship,
And who do you think were on the ship,
But Joseph and his Fair lady?
Listen to the tune of the last verse
O he did whistle and she did sing
And all the bells on earth did ring
For joy our Saviour Christ was born
On Christmas day in the morning.
Sung by Thomas Taylor (67) at Ross Workhouse, Herefordshire, 1st September 1921.
As it fell out upon one day
The stars from heaven did fall,
And our Saviour asked his dear mother
If he could play at ball.
To play at bail, my own dear child,
It's time that you were gone,
And don't let me hear of your ill-doings
At night when you come home.
So up Lincull and down Lincull
Our sweetest Saviour ran,
And there he met three rich young lords:
Good morning to you all.
Good morn, good morn, good morn, said they.
Good morning, then said he.
O which of you three rich young men
Will play at ball with me?
We are lords' and ladies' children
Born in a bowery hall,
And you are but mild Mary's child
And born in an oxen stall.
If I am but mild Mary's child
And born in an oxen stall.
I'll make you believe in your latter end.
I'm ruler above you all.
Our Saviour built a bridge with the rays of the sun,
And over it went he.
These rich young lords followed after him
And drowned were all three.
Then it's up Lincull and it's down Lincull
Their mothers they did run,
Saying: Mary mild, correct your child,
For he has drowned our sons.
So Mary mild fetched home her child,
And placed him across her knee,
And with a bunch of green withy twigs
She gave him lashes three.
O the withy, the withy, the bitter withy
That has caused me to smart,
The withy shall be the very first tree
For to perish all at the heart.
Sung by Samuel Bradley (71) and Seth Vandrell (71) at Lilleshall, Shropshire, 27th October 1911.
Awake, awake, ye drowsy souls,
And hear what I shall tell:
Remember, Christ the Lamb of God
Redeemed our souls from hell.
He's crowned with thorns, spat on with scom,
The Jews have hid themselves,
So God send you all a joyful New Year, a New Year,
So God send you all a joyful New Year.
They bound Christ's body to a tree
And wounded him full sore;
From every wound the blood ran down
Till Christ could bleed no more.
His dying wounds all rent and torn
All covered with pearly gore.
So God, etc.
Then Jesus he called to Thomas
And bid him come and see,
And thrust thy fingers in my wounds
Which are in my body.
And be not faithless but believe,
And happy you shall be.
Then Jesus called his disciples
And tried them over death,
He said: All power shall be given to you
In Heaven and on earth.
Go forth and teach all nations,
Despise you not my death.
Go seek you every wandering sheep
As far as earth remains
Till I myself have paid your debts
And turned you back again.
Come all you heavy laden
I'll ease you of your pain.
Sung by Samson Bates (76) at The Trench, Shropshire, 19th December 1911.
As it fell out upon one day
Rich Diverus made a feast,
And he invited all his friends
And the gentry of the best.
Then Lazarus laid him down and down,
And down at Diverus' door.
Some meat, some drink, brother Diverus,
And bestow it upon the poor.
Thou art none of my brother, Lazarus,
Lies begging at my door.
No meat nor drink will I give thee.
Nor bestow it upon the poor.
Then Lazarus laid him down and down
And down by Diverus wall.
Some meat, some drink, brother Diverus,
Or with hunger starve I shall.
Thou art none of my brother, Lazarus,
Lies begging at my wall,
No meat nor drink will I give thee,
With hunger starve thou shalt.
Then Lazarus laid him down and down
And down by Diverus gate.
Some meat, some drink, brother Diverus,
For Jesus Christ his sake.
Then Diverus sent out his hungry dogs
To bite him as he lay,
And they had no power to bite one bite
And they licked his sores away.
Then Diverus sent out his merry men all
To whip poor Lazarus away,
And they had no power to strike one stroke,
But they flung their whips away.
As it fell out upon one day
Poor Lazarus sickened and died,
And there came two angels out of heaven
His soul there for to guide.
Rise up, rise up, brother Lazarus,
And come along with me,
There is a place prepared in heaven
To sit on an angel's knee.
As it fell out upon one day
Rich Diverus sickened and died,
And there came two serpents out of hell
His soul there for to guide.
Rise up, rise up, brother Diverus,
And come along with me,
There is a place prepared in hell
From which thou canst not flee.
Then Diverus lifted up his heavy, heavy eyes
And saw poor Lazarus blest.
One drop of water, brother Lazarus,
To quench my flaming thirst.
If I'd as many years to live
As there are blades of grass,
Then there would be an end in time
But Hell's pains will never be past.
If I had got my time again
The space of one half hour,
I'd make myself so perfect secure
That the Devil should have no power.
Sung by Thomas Landry (72) at Church Stretton Union, Shropshire, 1st September 1923.
On Christmas night all Christians sing
To hear what news those angels bring.
News of great joy and of great mirth,
News of our sweet Redeemer's birth.
Then why should men on earth be so sad
Since our Redeemer made us glad,
And when from sin he set us free
All for to gain our liberty?
Now sin depart, behold his grace,
Everlasting life comes in its place
And soon we shall its terror see,
And poor and rich must conquered be.
Then out of darkness we see light
Which makes all angels to sing this night:
Glory to God and peace to men
Both now and for ever, ever more. Amen.
Sung by Thomas Taylor (67) at Ross Workhouse, Herefordshire, 10th September 1921.
There was an old woman in our town,
In our town did dwell,
And she loved her husband dearly
But another man twice as well.
Sing whip she la rey tid - i - foo la - rey, Whip she la rey O.
Now she went and got six marrow bones
And she made him suck them all,
And that made the old man blind
Till he couldn't see any more.
The old man said he'd drown himself
If he could find the way.
The old woman quickly answered him:
O I'll show you the way.
She led him to the water
And took him to the brim.
And he said that he would drown himself
If she would push him in.
The old woman went to give a run
To push the old man in,
And he popped to the one side
And the woman went tumbling in.
She plunged about in the water
A-thinking she could swim.
But the old man got a puthering prop
And he propped her further in.
So now my song is ended,
You may pen it down in ink.
I won't bother my head to sing any more
If you don't give me some drink.
Sung by John Bradley (71) at Shipston-on-Stour, Warwickshire, 22nd August 1911.
O where have you been all the day, my boy Willie?
O where have you been all the day? O Willie, won't you tell me now?
I've been all the day, courting of a lady gay,
But she is too young to be taken from her mammy.
O can she brew and can she bake, my boy Willie?
O can she brew and can she bake? O Willie, won't you tell me now?
She can brew and she can bake, and she can make a wedding cake,
But she is too young to be taken from her mammy.
O can she knit and can she spin, my boy Willie?
O can she knit and can she spin? O Willie, won't you tell me now?
She can knit and she can spin, and she can do most anything,
But she is too young to be taken from her mammy.
O how old is she now. my boy Willie?
O how old is she now? O Willie, won't you tell me now?
Twice six, twice seven, twice twenty and eleven,
But she is too young to be taken from her mammy.
Sung by Michael William Johnson (68) at Ilmington, Warwickshire, 12th April 1911.
My clothing was once a linsey 'oolsey fine,
My mane it was long and my body it did shine
But now I'm getting old and going to decay,
My master frowns up on me and thus they all do say:
Poor old horse.
My master used to ride me at every chase all round,
My legs they were so nimble I could trip over the ground,
But now I'm getting old and scarcely able to crawl,
My master he looks down on me, saying I am no use at all.
Poor old horse.
My living was once of the best of corn and hay
That grows in yonder fields and the meadows so gay,
But now I'm getting old I scarcely get any at all,
I'm obliged to nibble the short grass that grows against the wall.
O once all in the stable I was kept so fine and warm
To keep my tender limbs from all aching pain and harm,
But now I'm getting old to the fields I'm obliged to go,
Let it hail, rain or sunshine, or the winds blow high or low.
My hide unto the huntsman so freely I will give,
My body to the hounds, for I'd rather die than live,
Then lay my legs so low that have run so many a mile,
Over hedges, bramble bed, ditches, likewise o'er gates and stiles.