Sung by Eliza Wharton and brothers, children of gipsies, habitually travelling in North Shropshire and Staffordshire, 13th July 1885
There was a lady, a lady of York
(Ri fol I diddle I gee wo)
She fell a-courting in her own father's park
Down by the greenwood side,O
She leaned her back against the thorn
There she had two pretty babes born
And she had nothing to lap 'em in
But she had a penknife sharp and keen
She did not care if they felt the smart
There she stabbed them right through the heart
She wiped the penknife in the sludge
The more she wiped it, the more the blood showed
As she was walking in her own father's park
She saw two pretty babes playing with a ball
'Pretty babes, pretty babes, if you were mine,
I'd dress you up in silks so fine'
'Dear mother, dear mother, when we were thine
You dressed us not in silks so fine'
'Here we go to the heavens so high,
You'll go to bad when you do die'
Sung by Jane Butler, Edgmond 1870-80
Listen to the tune (verse 1) Listen to the tune (verses 2-8)
Cold blows the wind over my true love
Cold blow the drops of rain
I never never had but one true love
And in Camvile he was slain
I'll do as much for my true love
As any young girl may
I'll sit and weep down by his grave
For twelve months and one day
But when twelve months were come and gone
This young man he arose
'What makes you weep down by my grave?
I can't take my repose'
'One kiss, one kiss of your lily-white lips,
One kiss is all I crave.
One kiss, one kiss of your lily-white lips,
And return back to your grave'
'My lips they are as cold as my clay,
My breath is heavy and strong.
If thou wast to kiss my lily-white lips
Thy days would not be long'
'O don't you remember the garden-grove
Where we was used to walk?
Pluck the finest flower of them all,
'Twill wither to a stalk'
'Go fetch me a nut from a dungeon deep
And water from a stone
And white milk from a maiden's breast
That babe bare never none'
'Go dig me a grave both long, wide and deep
As quickly as you may.
I will lie down in it and take one sleep
For a twelvemonth and one day'
Sung by Harriet Dowley (and others), Edgmond, 1872, learnt from her father, Brown, formerly a basket-maker at Eccleshall.
Lord Thomas he was a bold forester,
Chasing of the king’s deer,
Fair Eleanor she was a fine woman,
And Lord Thomas he loved her dear
It happened on a high holiday,
As many another beside,
Lord Thomas he went unto fair Eleanor
That should have been his sweet bride
‘What news, what news, Lord Thomas ?' she said,
'What news have you brought unto me ?'
‘I come to bid thee to my wedding
And that is bad news unto thee.’
'O God forbid,’ fair Eleanor cried,
‘That ever such thing should be done
I thought to ha’ bin the bride my own self
And thee to ha’ bin the bridegroom!'
She dressed herself in rich attire,
Her merry men all in green,
In every town that she rode through
They took her to be some queen.
And when that she raught to Lord Thomas’s door,
So boldly she tirled at the pin,
O who was so ready as Lord Thomas
For to let Fair Eleanor in?
He took her by the lily-white hand,
He led her through the hall,
He took her into the drawing-room,
And fixed her above them all
The brown girl had a knife in her hand
It was both keen and sharp,
And ‘twixt the long ribs and the short
She pricked fair Eleanor’s heart.
'O what is the matter ?’ Lord Thomas he says,
'Methinks vou look wondrous wan
Which you used to have as fair a colour
As ever the sun shone on.’
‘O are vou blind, Lord Thomas?‘ she says,
'Or cannot you very well see
O cannot you see my own heart’s blood,
Run trickling down to my knee’
Lord Thomas, having a sword in his hand,
It was both keen and small,
He took off the brown girl’s head
And threw it against the wall.
He sticked the haft against the floor,
The point against his own heart,
O never so soon did three lovers meet,
And never so soon did part
Lord Thomas was buried in the lower chancel,
Fair Eleanor in the higher
Out of Lord Thomas there grew a wild rose,
And out of her a briar.
They grew so high, they grew so wide.
They raught to the chancel-top,
And when that they could grow no higher
They knit of a true-lover's knot
Sung by Sally Withington and others at Edgmond 1870-80
Lord Bateman was a noble lord,
A noble lord of high degree,
He shipped himself upon a ship
Some foreign country for to see.
He sailed east, he sailed west,
Until he came to proud Turkey,
Where he was taken and put in prison,
Until his life it was weary.
This Turk he had one only daughter,
The fairest creature I ever did see,
She stole the keys of her father’s prison
Saying, 'Lord Bateman I will set free.’
She took him to her father’s arbour,
And gave to him the best of wine,
And every health she drank unto him,
‘I wish, Lord Bateman, you were mine.’
'Now seven years I'll make a vow,
And seven years I’ll keep it strong,
If you will wed with no other woman,
I will wed with no other man.'
The seven years were over and past,
And forty days were over and gone,
When she packed up her gay gold clothing,
And said, ‘ Lord Bateman I will go see.’
When she got to Lord Bateman’s castle
So boldly she rung this bell,
O who was so ready as the young proud porter
For to let this fair creature in?
‘Is this Lord Bateman’s castle ?’ she says,
'Or is his lordship now within?’
‘O yes, O yes,’ cried the young proud porter
‘He’s just now taken his young bride in.’
‘Tell him to send me a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the best of wine,
And not to forget the fair young lady
That did release him when close confined.’
Away, away, went the young proud porter,
Away, away, away went he,
Until he came to Lord Bateman’s chamber,
He fell down on his bended. knee.
'O there is one of the fairest creatures,
That ever my two eyes did see,
She has got rings on every finger,
On one of them she has got three,.
And as much gay gold about her middle
As would buy all Northumberland.'
‘She bids you give her a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the best of wine,
And not to forget the fair young lady
That did release you when close confined.’
Then Lord Bateman flew in a passion,
And broke his sword in splinters three,
Saying ‘I’ll give all my father’s riches
If Sophia has crossed the sea!'
Then up and spake the young bride’s mother,
She never was heard to speak so free,
‘You’ll not forget my only daughter
If Sophia has crossed the sea'
‘Take back, take back your daughter, Madam,
She's neither better nor worse for me,
She came to me with a horse and saddle,
She shall go back with a coach and three !’
An outlandish knight came from the north lands,
A knight from the north countree,
He told me he'd take me unto the north lands,
And there he would marry me.
Come fetch me some of your father’s gold,
And some of your mother's fee,
And two of the best nags out of the stable,
Where they stand thirty and three.
She fetched him some of her father's gold,
And some of her mother's fee,
And two of the best nags out of the stable,
Where they stood thirty and three.
She mounted her on the milk-white steed,
And he on the dapple-grey,
They rode until they came unto the seaside
Three hours before it was day.
'Light off, light off thy milk-white steed,
And deliver it unto me
Six pretty maidens I’ve drownded here,
And thou the seventh shalt be!'
'Doff off, doff off, thy silken gown,
And deliver it unto me
Methinks it looks too rich and too gay,
All for to rot in the salt sea.'
'Doff off, doff off, thy silken stays,
And deliver them unto me
Methinks they look too rich and too gay,
All for to rot in the salt sea.’
'Doff off, doff off, thy holland smock,
And deliver it unto me
Methinks it looks too rich and too gay
All for to rot in the salt sea.’
‘If I must doff off my holland smock,
Pray turn thy back unto me
For it is not fitting that such a ruffian
A naked woman should see.’
He turned his back towards her,
And viewed the leaves so green,
She took him round the middle so small,
And tumbled him into the stream.
He dropped high, he dropped low,
Until he came to the side,
‘Lay hold of my hand, my pretty Pollee,
And I will make thee my bride’
‘Lie there, lie there, thou false-hearted man!
Lie there instead of me
For six pretty maidens hast thou drownded here,
And the seventh has drownded thee.'
She mounted her on her milk-white steed,
And led the dapple-grey
She rode till she came to her father’s hall
An hour before it was day.
O then out spoke the pretty parrot,
‘Thou hast tarried so long away,
O I greatly fear, my pretty Pollee,
Some ruffian has led thee astray!'
'Hush, hush! hush, hush! my pretty parrot,
Don’t prittle nor prattle nor tell no tales of me,
Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,
And the door of the best ivoree.’
The king being in the chamber so high,
And hearing the parrot, did say,
'O what is the matter, my pretty parrot,
That you prattle so long before day?'
‘It’s no laughing matter,’ the parrot did say,
'That so loudly I called unto thee,
For the cat was up in the window so high,
And I feared she would have me.’
'Well turned, well turned, my pretty parrot
Well turned, well turned for me
Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,
And the door of the best ivoree.’
Sung by Eliza Wharton and her brothers, 23rd May 1885.
There came a gang o’ gipsies by,
And they was singing so merry O
Till they gained the heart o’ my lady gay,
[To follow the gipsy laddie, O
As soon as the lord he did come in,
Enquired for his lady, O
And some o’ the servants did-a reply,
'Her’s away wi' the gipsy laddie, O'
‘O saddle me the bay, and saddle me the grey,
Till I go and search for my lady, O'
And some o’ the servants did-a reply,
‘Her’s away wi' the gipsy laddie, O'
And he rode on, and he rode off,
Till he come to the gipsies' tent-ie, O
And there he saw his lady gay
By the side o’ the gipsy laddie, O
‘Didn’t I leave you houses and land?
And didn’t I leave you money, O?
Didn’t I leave you three pretty babes
As ever was in yonder green island, O?'
‘What care I for houses and land?
And what care I for money, O?
What do I care for three pretty babes
Compared to my gipsy laddie, O'
Sung by Harriet Dowley, of Edgmond, who knew no title to it.
Yonder stands a comely creature,
With her breast as white as snow,
I’ll go court her for her feature,
Though her answer'll perhaps be no.
‘Sit you down, young man, you’re welcome,
Though your face I'll see no more,
For I will have a handsome young man
Whether he be rich or poor.’
'Madam, I’ve got gold and silver,
Madam, I’ve got house and land,
Madam, I’ve got great stores of riches,
They all shall be at your command.’
‘What care I for your gold and silver,
Or what care I for your house and land,
Or what care I for all your treasures
If I can have but a handsome man ?'
‘Madam, you talk much of beauty,
It’s a flower that soon decays,
The finest flower in the summer,
It doth soonest fade away.'
‘The ripest apple’s soonest rotten,
The hottest love is soonest cold,
A young man’s word is soon forgotten,
So, pretty maid, don’t be so bold.’
‘But fare you well, my dearest creature,
Since I have no more to say.’
‘O turn again, young man, I’ll have you'
But his answer was, ‘Nay, nay'
Sung by Sally Withington of Edgmond, who learned it as a girl in farm service (1820-30) from the singing of her young mistress.
A wealthy young squire of Tamworth you hear,
He courted a nobleman’s daughter so fair,
All for to be married it was their intent,
Their friends and relations had given consent.
The time was appointed for the wedding-day
A farmer was chosen to give her away.
As soon as this lady the farmer did spy,
Love inflamed her heart. 'O, my heart ' she did cry.
She turned from the Squire, but nothing she said,
Instead of being married she went to her bed.
The thoughts of the farmer still run in her mind,
A way for to gain him she soon then did find.
Coat, waistcoat, and breeches, this lady put on,
And a-hunting she went with her dog and her gun
She hunted all round where the farmer did dwell,
Because in her heart she loved him well.
She oftentimes fired, but nothing she killed,
At length the young farmer come into the field,
And to discourse with him it was her intent,
With her dog and her gun to meet him she went
'I thought you had been at the wedding,’ she cried,
'To wait on the Squire and give him his bride.’
'O no,’ said the farmer, ‘if the truth I must tell,
I’ll not give her away, for I love her too well'.
The lady was pleased for to hear him so bold,
She gave him a glove that was flowered with gold,
And told him she'd found it as she came along,
As she was a-hunting with her dog and her gun.
The lady went home with her heart full of love,
And gave out a speech that she had lost her glove.
'The man that will find it and bring it to me,
The man that will find it, his bride I will be'.
The farmer was pleased for to hear of such news,
With his heart full of love to the lady he goes,
Saying, ‘Dear honoured lady, I’ve picked up a glove,
If you will be pleased for to grant me your love.’
'It’s already granted,’ the lady replied
'I love the sweet breath of a farmer', she cried
'I'll be mistress of his dairy and the milking of his cow,
While my jovial brisk young farmer goes a-whistling to plough'.
There were three jolly huntsmen,
Went out to hunt the fox,
And where d’ye think they found him?
Amongst the woods and rocks.
Chorus:
‘Tally-ho! Tally-ho! stick to it, my boys!’
Aloud the huntsman cries,
With a hip, hip, hip! and a hallo
And through the woods he flies.
And first they met a plough-boy,
Who merrily sang Tally-ho
He swore he saw bold Reynard
Behind the barley-mow.
And now they met an old man,
Whose age was sixty-three,
He swore he saw bold Reynard
Run up the old oak tree.
And next they met a miller,
Whose mill went clickety-clack,
He swore he saw bold Reynard
Run up that very mill-bank.
Second Version.
There were three jolly huntsmen,
Went out to hunt a fox,
And where d'you think they found him?
Behind the woods and rocks.
‘Tally-ho ! Tally-ho I (etc., as above).
First they met with a blind man,
As blind as he could be,
He swore he saw poor Reynard
Run up a hollow tree.
Next they met with a lame man,
As lame as he could be,
He swore he chased poor Reynard
All up the river Dee.
Next they met with a miller,
Whose mill went clickety.clack,
He said he saw old Reynard
Run away with a goose on his back.
Next they met with a schoolboy,
A schoolboy out of bounds,
He swore he saw poor Reynard
Run all across the Downs.
Last they met with a soldier,
A soldier dressed in red,
He swore he saw poor Reynard
Amongst the dogs quite dead
While shepherds watched their flocks by night
All seated on the ground
The angel of the Lord came down
And glory shone around
Fear not, said he, for mighty dread
Had seized their troubled mind
Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To you and all mankind
To you in David's town this day
Is born of David's line
A Saviour who is Christ the Lord
And this shall be the sign
The heavenly babe you there shall find
To human view displayed
All meanly wrapped in swaddling bands
And in a manger laid
Thus spake the seraph and forthwith
Appeared a shining throng
Of angels praising God who thus
Addressed their joyful song
All glory be to God on high
And on the earth be peace
Goodwill henceforth from heaven to men
Begin and never cease
Sung at Woolstaston.
Christ made a trance one Sunday view
All with His own dear hands
He made the sun clear and the moon,
Like the water on dry land.
All for the saving of our souls
Christ died upon the cross,
What shall we do for our Saviour
Like he has done for us?
O teach your children well, dear man,
And teach them while they’re voung,
For better ‘twill be for your soul, dear man,
When you are dead and gone.
Today, dear man, you might be alive,
Worth many thousand pound,
And tomorrow, dear man, vou may be dead,
And your corpse laid in the ground.
With a turf all at your head, dear man,
And another at your feet,
Your good deeds and your bad ones all
Before the Lord shall meet.
There are six days in the week, dear man,
For this poor labouring man,
And the seventh day to serve the Lord
Both Father and the Son.
Hell is deep and Hell is dark,
And Hell is full with faults,
May the Lord give us grace in every place
And to pray to our ending day.
Sung by Eliza Wharton and her brothers, 23rd May, 1885.
Now Christmas Day is drawing near at hand,
Come serve the Lord and be at His command,
And for a portion, God he will provide
And give a blessing to his soul beside.
Go down in yonders garden where flowers grows by ranks,
Go down upon your knees and 'turn the good Lord thanks,
Go down upon your knees and pray both night and day,
And get a blessing for His sake who washed our sins away.
And little children, they learn to cuss and swear,
Afore they knows one word of their Lord's prayer,
They've patched and painted, dressed in idle stuff,
Like's if God had not made them fine enough
From a chap-book selection of Christmas carols, printed by J. Wrigley, 33, Miller Street, Manchester. Commonly sung in Shrewsbury around 1860.
Here we come a-wassailing
Among the leaves so green,
Here we come a-carolling
So fair to be seen.
God send you happy God send you happy!
God send you all a happy New Year.
We are not daily beggars
That beg from door to door,
But we are neighbours’ children
That you have seen before.
Call up the butler of this house,
Put on his golden ring,
And let him bring a pint of beer,
And the better we shall sing.
The streets are very dirty,
Our shoes are very thin,
We’ve got a little pocket
To put a penny in.
God bless the master of this house,
Likewise the missis too,
And all the little children
That about the table go.
God bless the master of this house
And the good missis too
And all the little children
That about the table go
God bless your man and maiden
Your cattle and your store
And all that is within your gates
I wish you ten times more
Your pockets lined with silver,
Your barrels full of beer,
Your pantry full of pork pies,
I wish I had some here
Your streets is very dirty
The night is very cold
And this night to come a-souling
We do make bold
The roads are very dirty
My shoes are very thin
I've got a little pocket
To put a penny in
Go down into your cellar
And see what you can find
The barrel is not empty
I hope you will prove kind
I hope you will prove kind
With your apples and strong beer
And we'll come no more a-souling
Till this time next year.
We are three jolly boys all in a mind
We are come a-souling, I hope you'll prove kind
Souling time's coming, and we're souling here
And all that we're souling for is apples and good beer
Put your hand in your pocket and pull out your keys
Go down to your cellar and draw what you please
I hope you'll prove kind with your ale and strong beer
And we'll come no more souling till this time next year