Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England Part 38

'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 la.s.s, 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 t.i.t 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 n.o.bbut {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 s.l.u.t. 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 b.u.t.tons 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 n.o.ble he gave a great shout:

'Pray, Mr. n.o.ble, 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.