Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England Part 41

Their lambs gave them clothing, their cows gave them meat, And in plenty and peace all their joys wore complete.

Amongst the rare virtues that milk does produce, For a thousand of dainties it's daily in use: Now a pudding I'll tell 'ee, And so can maid Nelly, Must have from good milk both the cream and the jelly: For a dainty fine pudding, without cream or milk, Is a citizen's wife, without satin or silk.

In the virtues of milk there is more to be mustered: O! the charming delights both of cheesecake and custard!

If to wakes {63} you resort, You can have no sport, Unless you give custards and cheesecake too for't: And what's the jack-pudding that makes us to laugh, Unless he hath got a great custard to quaff?

Both pancake and fritter of milk have good store, But a Devonshire white-pot must needs have much more; Of no brew {64} you can think, Though you study and wink, From the l.u.s.ty sack posset to poor posset drink, But milk's the ingredient, though wine's {65} ne'er the worse, For 'tis wine makes the man, though 'tis milk makes the nurse.

Ballad: THE MILK-MAID'S LIFE.

[Of this popular country song there are a variety of versions. The following, which is the most ancient, is transcribed from a black- letter broadside in the Roxburgh Collection, ent.i.tled The Milke- maid's Life; or, a pretty new ditty composed and penned, the praise of the Milking-pail to defend. To a curious new tune called the Milke-maid's Dump. It is subscribed with the initials M. P.; probably those of Martin Parker.]

You rural G.o.ddesses, That woods and fields possess, a.s.sist me with your skill, that may direct my quill, More jocundly to express, The mirth and delight, both morning and night, On mountain or in dale, Of them who choose this trade to use, And, through cold dews, do never refuse To carry the milking-pail.

The bravest la.s.ses gay, Live not so merry as they; In honest civil sort they make each other sport, As they trudge on their way; Come fair or foul weather, they're fearful of neither, Their courages never quail.

In wet and dry, though winds be high, And dark's the sky, they ne'er deny To carry the milking-pail.

Their hearts are free from care, They never will despair; Whatever them befal, they bravely bear out all, And fortune's frowns outdare.

They pleasantly sing to welcome the spring, 'Gainst heaven they never rail; If gra.s.s well grow, their thanks they show, And, frost or snow, they merrily go Along with the milking-pail:

Base idleness they do scorn, They rise very early i' th' morn, And walk into the field, where pretty birds do yield Brave music on every thorn.

The linnet and thrush do sing on each bush, And the dulcet nightingale Her note doth strain, by jocund vein, To entertain that worthy train, Which carry the milking-pail.

Their labour doth health preserve, No doctor's rules they observe, While others too nice in taking their advice, Look always as though they would starve.

Their meat is digested, they ne'er are molested, No sickness doth them a.s.sail; Their time is spent in merriment, While limbs are lent, they are content, To carry the milking-pail.

Upon the first of May, With garlands, fresh and gay, With mirth and music sweet, for such a season meet, They pa.s.s the time away.

They dance away sorrow, and all the day thorough Their legs do never fail, For they nimbly their feet do ply, And bravely try the victory, In honour o' the milking-pail.

If any think that I Do practise flattery, In seeking thus to raise the merry milkmaids' praise, I'll to them thus reply:- It is their desert inviteth my art, To study this pleasant tale; In their defence, whose innocence, And providence, gets honest pence Out of the milking-pail.

Ballad: THE MILKING-PAIL.

[The following is another version of the preceding ditty, and is the one most commonly sung.]

Ye nymphs and sylvan G.o.ds, That love green fields and woods, When spring newly-born herself does adorn, With flowers and blooming buds: Come sing in the praise, while flocks do graze, On yonder pleasant vale, Of those that choose to milk their ewes, And in cold dews, with clouted shoes, To carry the milking-pail.

You G.o.ddess of the morn, With blushes you adorn, And take the fresh air, whilst linnets prepare A concert on each green thorn; The blackbird and thrush on every bush, And the charming nightingale, In merry vein, their throats do strain To entertain, the jolly train Of those of the milking-pail.

When cold bleak winds do roar, And flowers will spring no more, The fields that were seen so pleasant and green, With winter all candied o'er, See now the town la.s.s, with her white face, And her lips so deadly pale; But it is not so, with those that go Through frost and snow, with cheeks that glow, And carry the milking-pail.

The country lad is free From fears and jealousy, Whilst upon the green he oft is seen, With his la.s.s upon his knee.

With kisses most sweet he doth her so treat, And swears her charms won't fail; But the London la.s.s, in every place, With brazen face, despises the grace Of those of the milking-pail.

Ballad: THE SUMMER'S MORNING.

[This is a very old ditty, and a favourite with the peasantry in every part of England; but more particularly in the mining districts of the North. The tune is pleasing, but uncommon. R. W.

Dixon, Esq., of Seaton-Carew, Durham, by whom the song was communicated to his brother for publication, says, 'I have written down the above, verbatim, as generally sung. It will be seen that the last lines of each verse are not of equal length. The singer, however, makes all right and smooth! The words underlined in each verse are sung five times, thus:- They ad-van-ced, they ad-van-ced, they ad-van-ced, they ad-van-ced, they ad-van-ced me some money,-- ten guineas and a crown. The last line is thus sung:- We'll be married, (as the word is usually p.r.o.nounced), We'll be married, we'll be married, we'll be married, we'll be married, we'll be mar- ri-ed when I return again.' The tune is given in Popular Music.

Since this song appeared in the volume issued by the Percy Society, we have met with a copy printed at Devonport. The readings are in general not so good; but in one or two instances they are apparently more ancient, and are, consequently, here adopted. The Devonport copy contains two verses, not preserved in our traditional version. These we have incorporated in our present text, in which they form the third and last stanzas.]

It was one summer's morning, as I went o'er the moss, I had no thought of 'listing, till the soldiers did me cross; They kindly did invite me to a flowing bowl, and down, THEY ADVANCED me some money,--ten guineas and a crown.

'It's true my love has listed, he wears a white c.o.c.kade, He is a handsome tall young man, besides a roving blade; He is a handsome young man, and he's gone to serve the king, OH! MY VERY heart is breaking for the loss of him.

'My love is tall and handsome, and comely for to see, And by a sad misfortune a soldier now is he; I hope the man that listed him may not prosper night nor day, FOR I WISH THAT the Hollanders may sink him in the sea.

'Oh! may he never prosper, oh! may he never thrive, Nor anything he takes in hand so long as he's alive; May the very gra.s.s he treads upon the ground refuse to grow, SINCE HE'S BEEN the only cause of my sorrow, grief, and woe!'

Then he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her flowing eyes, - 'Leave off those lamentations, likewise those mournful cries; Leave of your grief and sorrow, while I march o'er the plain, WE'LL BE MARRIED when I return again.'

'O now my love has listed, and I for him will rove, I'll write his name on every tree that grows in yonder grove, Where the huntsman he does hollow, and the hounds do sweetly cry, TO REMIND ME of my ploughboy until the day I die.'

Ballad: OLD ADAM.

[We have had considerable trouble in procuring a copy of this old song, which used, in former days, to be very popular with aged people resident in the North of England. It has been long out of print, and handed down traditionally. By the kindness, however, of Mr. S. Swindells, printer, Manchester, we have been favoured with an ancient printed copy, which Mr. Swindells observes he had great difficulty in obtaining. Some improvements have been made in the present edition from the recital of Mr. Effingham Wilson, who was familiar with the song in his youth.]

Both s.e.xes give ear to my fancy, While in praise of dear woman I sing; Confined not to Moll, Sue, or Nancy, But mates from a beggar to king.

When old Adam first was created, And lord of the universe crowned, His happiness was not completed, Until that an helpmate was found.

He'd all things in food that were wanting To keep and support him through life; He'd horses and foxes for hunting, Which some men love better than wife.

He'd a garden so planted by nature, Man cannot produce in his life; But yet the all-wise great Creator Still saw that he wanted a wife.

Then Adam he laid in a slumber, And there he lost part of his side; And when he awoke, with a wonder, Beheld his most beautiful bride!

In transport he gazed upon her, His happiness now was complete!

He praised his bountiful donor, Who thus had bestowed him a mate.