Old Ballads

Old Ballads

COME, LASSES AND LADS

Come, lasses and lads,                 get leave of your dads,  And away to the Maypole hie,For ev'ry fair has a sweetheart there,  And the fiddler's standing by;For Willy shall dance with Jane,  And Johnny has got his Joan,To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it,  Trip it up and down!"You're out," says Dick; "not I," says Nick,  "'Twas the fiddler play'd it wrong;""'Tis true," says Hugh, and so says Sue,  And so says ev'ry one.The fiddler than began  To play the tune again,And ev'ry girl did trip it, trip it,  Trip it to the men!Then, after an hour, they went to a bow'r,  And play'd for ale and cakes;And kisses too,—until they were due,  The lasses held the stakes.The girls did then begin  To quarrel with the men,And bade them take their kisses back,  And give them their own again!"Good-night," says Harry;                  "good-night," says Mary;  "Good-night," says Poll to John;"Good-night," says Sue                  to her sweetheart Hugh;  "Good-night," says ev'ry one.Some walk'd and some did run,  Some loiter'd on the way,And bound themselves by kisses twelve,  To meet the next holiday.Anon.

COMING THRO' THE RYE

Gin a body meet a body  Comin' thro' the rye,Gin a body kiss a body,  Need a body cry?Ilka lassie has her laddie,  Nane, they say, hae I,Yet a' the lads they smile at me  When comin' thro' the rye.Gin a body meet a body  Comin' frae the town,Gin a body meet a body,  Need a body frown?    Ilka lassie has, etc.Amang the train there is a swain  I dearly lo'e mysel';But what his name, or whaur his hame,  I dinna care to tell.    Ilka lassie has, etc.Anon.

CHERRY-RIPE

Cherry-Ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,  Full and fair ones, come and buy;If so be you ask me whereThey do grow? I answer, There,Where my Julia's lips do smile,There's the land or cherry isle,Whose plantations fully showAll the year, where cherries grow.Herrick.

ANNIE LAURIE

Maxwelton braes are bonnie,  Where early fa's the dew;And it's there that Annie Laurie  Gied me her promise true;Gied me her promise true,  Which ne'er forgot will be;And for bonnie Annie Laurie  I'd lay me doun and dee.Her brow is like the snaw-drift,  Her throat is like the swan,Her face it is the fairest  That e'er the sun shone on;That e'er the sun shone on,  And dark blue is her ee;And for bonnie Annie Laurie  I'd lay me doun and dee.Like dew on the gowan lying,  Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;And like winds in summer sighing,  Her voice is low and sweet;Her voice is low and sweet,  And she's all the world to me;And for bonnie Annie Laurie  I'd lay me doun and dee.Trad.

ROBIN ADAIR

What's this dull town to me?    Robin's not near.What was't I wish'd to see,    What wish'd to hear?Where's all the joy and mirthMade this town a heav'n on earth?Oh, they're all fled with thee,    Robin Adair.What made th' assembly shine?    Robin Adair.What made the ball so fine?    Robin was there.What when the play was o'er,What made my heart so sore?Oh, it was parting with    Robin Adair.But now thou'rt cold to me,    Robin Adair.But now thou'rt cold to me,    Robin Adair.Yet he I lov'd so wellStill in my heart shall dwell;Oh, I can ne'er forget    Robin Adair.Anon.

MOLLY BAWN

Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,  All lonely, waiting here for you?While the stars above are brightly shining,  Because they've nothing else to do.The flowers late were open keeping,  To try a rival blush with you;But their mother, Nature, set them sleeping,  With their rosy faces wash'd with dew.Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,  All lonely, waiting here for you?Now the pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear,  And the pretty stars were made to shine;And the pretty girls were made for the boys, dear,  And may be you were made for mine:The wicked watch-dog here is snarling,  He takes me for a thief, you see;For he knows I'd steal you, Molly, darling,  And then transported I should be.Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,  All lonely, waiting here for you?Samuel Lover.

GO, HAPPY ROSE!

Go, happy Rose! and interwove  With other flowers, bind my love.Tell her, too, she must not beLonger flowing, longer free,That so oft has fetter'd me.Say, it she's fretful, I have bandsOf pearl and gold to bind her hands;  Tell her, if she struggle still,  I have myrtle rods at will,  For to tame though not to kill.Take thou my blessing thus, and go,And tell her this,—but do not so!  Lest a handsome anger fly  Like a lightning from her eye,  And burn thee up as well as I.Herrick.

THE ANCHOR'S WEIGH'D

The tear fell gently from her eye,  When last we parted on the shore;My bosom heav'd with many a sigh,  To think I ne'er might see her more."Dear youth," she cried,              "and canst thou haste away?My heart will break; a little moment stay.Alas, I cannot, I cannot part from thee.The anchor's weigh'd,              farewell! remember me.""Weep not, my love," I trembling said,  "Doubt not a constant heart like mine;I ne'er can meet another maid,  Whose charms can fix               that heart like thine!""Go, then," she cried, "but let thy constant mind  Oft think of her you leave in tears behind.""Dear maid, this last embrace my pledge shall be!The anchor's weigh'd!                farewell! remember me."S.J. Arnold.

ALICE GRAY

She's all my fancy painted her,  She's lovely, she's divine;But her heart it is another's,  She never can be mine;Yet lov'd I as man never lov'd,  A love without decay,Oh! my heart, my heart is breaking  For the love of Alice Gray!Her dark brown hair is braided  O'er a brow of spotless white;Her soft blue eye now languishes,  Now flashes with delight;Her hair is braided not for me,  The eye is turned away;Yet, my heart, my heart is breaking  For the love of Alice Gray.I've sunk beneath the summer's sun,  And trembled in the blast;But my pilgrimage is nearly done,  The weary conflict's past:And when the green sod wraps my grave,  May pity haply say,Oh! his heart, his heart is broken  For the love of Alice Gray.William Mee.

HOME, SWEET HOME

'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.  Home! home! sweet, sweet home!  There's no place like home!  There's no place like home!An exile from home splendour dazzles in vain,Oh I give me my lowly thatch'd cottage again!The birds singing gaily that came at my call,Give me them with the peace of mind dearer than all.  Home! home! sweet, sweet home!  There's no place like home!  There's no place like home!J. Howard Payne.

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO

John Anderson, my Jo, John,  When we were first acquent,Your locks were like the raven,  Your bonnie brow was brent;But now your brow is beld, John,  Your locks are like the snaw;But blessings on your frosty pow,  John Anderson, my Jo.John Anderson, my Jo, John,  We clamb the hill thegither;And monie a canty day, John,  We've had wi' ane anither:Now we maun totter down, John,  But hand in hand we'll go,And sleep thegither at the foot,  John Anderson, my Jo.Burns (New Version).

MY PRETTY JANE

My pretty Jane, my pretty Jane!  Ah! never, never look so shy;But meet me in the evening,  While the bloom is on the rye.The spring is waning fast, my love,  The corn is in the ear,The summer nights are coming, love,  The moon shines bright and clear.Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane!  Ah! never look so shy,But meet me in the evening,  While the bloom is on the rye.But name the day, the wedding day,  And I will buy the ring;The lads and maids in favours white  And village bells shall ring.The spring is waning fast, my love,  The corn is in the ear,The summer nights are coming, love,  The moon shines bright and clear.Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane!  Ah! never look so shy,But meet me in the evening,  While the bloom is on the rye.Edward Fitzball.

ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP

Rock'd in the cradle of the deep,I lay me down in peace to sleep;Secure, I rest upon the wave,For Thou, O Lord, hast pow'r to save.I know Thou wilt not slight my call,For Thou dost note the sparrow's fall,And calm and peaceful is my sleep,Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.And such the trust that still were mine,Tho' stormy winds swept o'er the brine;Or though the tempest's fiery breathRous'd me from sleep to wreck and death!In ocean cave still safe with Thee,The germ of immortality;And calm and peaceful is my sleep,Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.Mrs. Willard.

THE MINSTREL BOY

The Minstrel boy to the war is gone,  In the ranks of death you'll find him;His father's sword he has girded on,  And his wild harp slung behind him.—"Land of song!" said the warrior-bard,  "Though all the world betrays thee,One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,  One faithful harp shall praise thee!"The Minstrel fell!—but the foeman's chain  Could not bring his proud soul under;The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,  For he tore its cords asunder;And said, "No chains shall sully thee,  Thou soul of love and bravery!Thy songs were made for the brave and free,  They shall never sound in slavery!"Thomas Moore.

ON THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER

On the banks of Allan Water,  When the sweet Springtime did fall,Was the miller's lovely daughter,  The fairest of them all.For his bride a soldier sought her,  And a winning tongue had he:On the banks of Allan Water,  None so gay as she.On the banks of Allan Water,  When brown Autumn spreads its store,Then I saw the miller's daughter,  But she smiled no more;For the Summer grief had brought her,  And the soldier false was he;On the banks of Allan Water,  None so sad as she.On the banks of Allan Water,  When the Winter snow fell fast,Still was seen the miller's daughter,  Chilling blew the blast.But the miller's lovely daughter,  Both from cold and care was free:On the banks of Allan Water,  There a corpse lay she.M.G. Lewis.

AULD LANG SYNE

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  And never brought to min'?Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  And days o' auld lang syne?        CHORUS.For auld lang syne, my dear,  For auld lang syne,We'll tak' a cup' o' kindness yet,  For auld lang syne.We twa hae run about the braes,  And pu'd the gowans fine;But we've wandered mony a weary foot  Sin auld lang syne.        For auld, etc.We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,  From mornin' sun till dine;But seas between us braid hae roar'd  Sin auld lang syne.        For auld, etc.And here's a hand, my trusty frien',  And gie's a hand o' thine;And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,  For auld lang syne.        For auld, etc.And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup,  And surely I'll be mine;And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet  For auld lang syne.        For auld, etc.Burns.

WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN

'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town,    In the rosy time of the year;Sweet flowers bloom'd,          and the grass was down,  And each shepherd woo'd his dear.    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and gay,    Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay:The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried,      "No, no, it will not do;I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,              manna buckle to."Jocky was a wag that never would wed,  Though long he had follow'd the lass:Contented she earn'd          and eat her brown bread,  And merrily turn'd up the grass.    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free,    Won her heart right merrily:Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried,      "No, no, it will not do;I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,              manna buckle to."But when he vow'd he would          make her his bride,  Though his flocks and herds                were not few,She gave him her hand, and a kiss beside,  And vow'd she'd for ever be true.    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free,    Won her heart right merrily:At church she no more frowning cried,      "No, no, it will not do;I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,              manna buckle to."Anon.

THE NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,The shooting stars attend thee;  And the elves also,  Whose little eyes glow,Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee,Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;  But on, on thy way,  Not making a stay,Since ghost there's none to affright thee.Let not the dark thee cumber;What though the moon does slumber?  The stars of the night  Will lend thee their light,Like tapers clear, without number.Then, Julia, let me woo thee,Thus, thus to come unto me;  And when I shall meet  Thy silv'ry feet,My soul I'll pour into thee.Herrick.

TOM BOWLING

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,  The darling of our crew;No more he'll hear the tempest howling,  For death has broach'd him to.His form was of the manliest beauty,  His heart was kind and soft;Faithful below he did his duty.  But now he's gone aloft.Tom never from his word departed,  His virtues were so rare;His friends were many and true-hearted,  His Poll was kind and fair:And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly;  Ah, many's the time and oft!But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,  For Tom is gone aloft.Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,  When He who all commands,Shall give, to call life's crew together,  The word to pipe all hands.Thus Death, who kings and tars dispatches,  In vain Tom's life has doff'd;For though his body's under hatches,  His soul is gone aloft.Charles Dibdin.

MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED RED ROSE

My love is like the red red rose  That's newly sprung in June;My love is like the melody  That's sweetly played in tune.As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,  So deep in love am I;And I will love thee still, my dear,  Till a' the seas gang dry.Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,  And the rocks melt wi' the sun;And I will love thee still, my dear,  While the sands of life shall run.But, fare thee weel, my only love,  And fare thee weel awhile;And I will come again, my dear,  Though 'twere ten thousand mile.Burns.

WIDOW MALONE

Did you hear of the Widow Malone,                        Ohone!Who lived in the town of Athlone!                        Ohone!  Oh, she melted the hearts  Of the swains in them parts,So lovely the Widow Malone,                        Ohone!So lovely the Widow Malone.Of lovers she had a full score,                        Or more,And fortunes they all had galore,                        In store;  From the minister down  To the clerk of the crown,All were courting the Widow Malone,                        Ohone!All were courting the Widow Malone.But so modest was Mistress Malone,                        'Twas known,That no one could see her alone,                        Ohone!  Let them ogle and sigh,  They could ne'er catch her eye,So bashful the Widow Malone,                        Ohone!So bashful the Widow Malone.Till one Mister O'Brien, from Clare,—                        How quare!It's little for blushing they care                        Down there,  Put his arm round her waist—  Gave ten kisses at laste—"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone,                        My own!""Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone."And the widow they all thought so shy,                        My eye!Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh,                        For why?  But "Lucius," says she,  "Since you've now made so free,You may marry your Mary Malone,                        Ohone!You may marry your Mary Malone."There's a moral contained in my song,                        Not wrong,And one comfort, it's not very long,                        But strong,—  If for widows you die,  Learn to kiss, not to sigh,For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone,                        Ohone!Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress Malone.Charles Lever.

THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN

And did you ne'er hear of a jolly young waterman,  Who at Blackfriars Bridge used for to ply?And he feathered his oars with such skill and dexterity,  Winning each heart and delighting each eye.He look'd so neat, and he row'd so steadily,  The maidens all flock'd in his boat so readily;And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an air,That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.What sights of fine folks he oft row'd in his wherry!  'Twas clean'd out so nice, and so painted withal;He was always first oars when the fine city ladies  In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall.And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering,But 'twas all one to Tom their gibing and jeering;For loving or liking he little did care,For this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.And yet but to see how strangely things happen,  As he row'd along, thinking of nothing at all,He was ply'd by a damsel so lovely and charming,  That she smil'd, and so straightway in love he did fall.And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow,He'd wed her to-night, and not wait till to-morrow;And how should this waterman ever know care,When, married, was never in want of a fair.Charles Dibdin.

CALLER HERRIN'

Wha'll buy caller herrin'?  They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';Buy my caller herrin',    new drawn frae the Forth.When ye were sleeping on your pillows,Dreamt ye aught o' our puir fellows,Darkling as they face the billows,A' to fill our woven willows.Buy my caller herrin',They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';Buy my caller herrin',    new drawn frae the Forth.Caller herrin', caller herrin'.An' when the creel o' herrin' passes,Ladies clad in silks and laces,Gather in their braw pelisses,Toss their heads and screw their faces;Buy my caller herrin',They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';Buy my caller herrin',    new drawn frae the Forth.Noo neebor wives, come, tent my tellin',When the bonnie fish ye're sellin'At a word be aye your dealin',Truth will stand when a' things failin';Buy my caller herrin',  They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';Buy my caller herrin',    new drawn frae the Forth.Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?  They're no brought here without brave darin',Buy my caller herrin',  Ye little ken their worth.Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?  O ye may ca' them vulgar farin';Wives and mithers maist despairin',Ca' them lives o' men.Caller herrin', caller herrin'.Lady Nairne.

A HUNTING WE WILL GO

The dusky night rides down the sky,  And ushers in the morn;The hounds all join in glorious cry,  The huntsman winds his horn.    And a hunting we will go.The wife around her husband throws  Her arms to make him stay:"My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows;  You cannot hunt to-day."    Yet a hunting we will go.Away they fly to 'scape the rout,  Their steeds they soundly switch;Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,  And some thrown in the ditch.    Yet a hunting we will go.Sly Reynard now like lightning flies,  And sweeps across the vale;And when the hounds too near he spies,  He drops his bushy tail.    Then a hunting we will go.Fond echo seems to like the sport,  And join the jovial cry;The woods, the hills the sound retort,  And music fills the sky.    When a hunting we do go.At last his strength to faintness worn,  Poor Reynard ceases flight;Then hungry, homeward we return,  To feast away the night.    And a drinking we do go.Ye jovial hunters, in the morn  Prepare then for the chase;Rise at the sounding of the horn  And health with sport embrace.    When a hunting we do go.Henry Fielding.

HEARTS OF OAK

Come, cheer up, my lads!          'tis to glory we steer,To add something more          to this wonderful year:To honour we call you,          not press you like slaves:For who are so free          as the sons of the waves?  Hearts of oak are our ships,  Gallant tars are our men;    We always are ready:    Steady, boys, steady!We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.We ne'er see our foes          but we wish them to stay;They never see us but          they wish us away;If they run, why, we follow,          or run them ashore;For if they won't fight us,          we cannot do more.    Hearts of oak, etc.Britannia triumphant,          her ships sweep the sea;Her standard is Justice—          her watchword, "Be free!"Then cheer up, my lads!          with one heart let us sing,"Our soldiers, our sailors,          our statesmen, and king."    Hearts of oak, etc.David Garrick.

THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN

I'll sing you a good old song,  Made by a good old pate,Of a fine old English gentleman,  Who had an old estate;And who kept up his old mansion  At a bountiful old rate,With a good old porter to relieve  The old poor at his gate—Like a fine old English gentleman,  All of the olden time.His hall so old was hung around  With pikes, and guns, and bows,And swords and good old bucklers  That had stood against old foes;'Twas there "his worship" sat in state,  In doublet and trunk hose,And quaff'd his cup of good old sack  To warm his good old nose—Like a fine old English gentleman,  All of the olden time.When winter's cold brought frost and snow,  He open'd his house to all;And though three-score and ten his years,  He featly led the ball.Nor was the houseless wanderer  E'er driven from his hall;For while he feasted all the great,  He ne'er forgot the small—Like a fine old English gentleman,  All of the olden time.But time, though sweet, is strong in flight,  And years roll swiftly by;And autumn's falling leaves proclaim'd  The old man—he must die!He laid him down quite tranquilly,  Gave up his latest sigh;And mournful stillness reign'd around,  And tears bedew'd each eye—For this good old English gentleman,  All of the olden time.Now, surely this is better far  Than all the new paradeOf theatres and fancy balls,  "At home" and masquerade!And much more economical,  For all his bills were paid,Then leave your new vagaries quite,  And take up the old trade—Of a fine old English gentleman,  All of the olden time.Anon.

THE BAY OF BISCAY O!

Loud roared the dreadful thunder!   The rain a deluge showers!The clouds were rent asunder  By lightning's vivid powers!     The night, both drear and dark,     Our poor devoted bark,       Till next day, there she lay,         In the Bay of Biscay O!Now dashed upon the billow,  Our op'ning timbers creak;Each fears a wat'ry pillow,  None stop the dreadful leak!    To cling to slipp'ry shrouds,    Each breathless seaman crowds,      As she lay, till the day,        In the Bay of Biscay O!At length the wished-for morrow  Broke through the hazy sky;Absorbed in silent sorrow,  Each heaved the bitter sigh;    The dismal wreck to view,    Struck horror to the crew,      As she lay, on that day,        In the Bay of Biscay O!Her yielding timbers sever,  Her pitchy seams are rent;When Heaven, all-bounteous ever,  Its boundless mercy sent!A sail in sight appears,We hail her with three cheers!  Now we sail, with the gale,    From the Bay of Biscay O!Andrew Cherry.

BLACK-EYED SUSAN

All in the Downs the fleet was moored,  The streamers waving in the wind,When black-eyed Susan came on board:  "Oh! where shall I my true love find?Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,If my sweet William sails among your crew?"William, who high upon the yard,  Rocked by the billows to and fro,Soon as her well-known voice he heard,  He sighed, and cast his eyes below:The cord glides swiftly through his glowing hands,And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands.So the sweet lark, high poised in air,  Shuts close his pinions to his breast(If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear),  And drops at once into her nest:The noblest captain in the British fleetMight envy William's lips those kisses sweet.Oh, Susan! Susan! lovely dear!  My vows shall ever true remain;Let me kiss off that falling tear,  We only part to meet again:Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall beThe faithful compass that still points to thee.Believe not what the landsmen say,  Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;They tell thee—sailors when away  In every port a mistress find!Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.If to fair India's coast we sail,  Thine eyes are seen in diamonds bright;Thy breath in Afric's spicy gale,  Thy skin in ivory so white:Thus every beauteous object that I viewWakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.Though battle call me from thy arms,  Let not my pretty Susan mourn;Though cannons roar, yet free from harms,  William shall to his dear return:Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.The boatswain gave the dreadful word,  The sails their swelling bosoms spread;No longer must she stay on board:  They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head.Her lessening boat, unwilling, rows to land;"Adieu!" she cried, and waved her lily hand.J. Gay.