Newcomers’ Songbook of Ansteorran Favorites

Transcription

Newcomers’ Songbook
of
Ansteorran Favorites
Second Edition
(Updated 2-1-93)
Compiled by HL Margery de Bray
A.K.A. Maggie
of the
Barony of Elfsea
Ansteorra
This book and its accompanying cassette tapes were compiled to help you learn some of our kingdom’s
favorite songs, to help you fit in more quickly, and to help you catch the flavor of the “Dreams” more
readily.
These songs may be reproduced for your local S.C.A. group but are not for sale or for use by other
individuals due to copyright conflicts.
The quality of the companion, home-made tapes is not the best, but they will help you learn the songs
more quickly. You may find that my words or melodies differ from the versions you know. Such was the
ballad process of ancient times and its oral traditions. The same evolutionary process is at work today. On
the rounds, I’ve repeated the lyrics several times to give you a chance to practice singing against the
melody. For the sake of space in some songs, I have grouped verses between often-repeated choruses.
This material is intended as merely a starting point for your bardic growth and research. When known,
I’ve tried to give credit where credit is due, the musical notation, and comments as to the authenticity of
the piece. Some of the songs are period material, others have a period feel and lend themselves well to a
campfire, and a few are strictly for fun (i.e. to be done very late at night or when caravanning to events,
etc.)
I hope you’ll join me ‘round a campfire some moonlit night and share in my favorite Ansteorran custom.
Updated again by Kristin Denton (Catan ingen Míchél) of Dragonsfire Tor 2005.
1
NEWCOMER’S SONGBOOK
Second Edition
(Updated 2-1-93)
Note:
Numbering system coordinates with three matching cassette tapes. Thus “Ash Grove” would be
numbered 1-7, “Carlow” 3-18, and so forth.
TAPE 1: SIDE A
1.
Wind in the Pipes
2.
Spring Strathspey
3.
Minstrel Boy
4.
Maggie’s Circle Song
5.
Black Widows in the Privy
6.
Tomorrow Belongs to Me
7.
Ash Grove
8.
When I Was a Young Man
9.
The Bog Down in the Valley-O
10. An Old Cliché Revisited
11. Four Green Fields
12. I’m a Rover
13. Maids When You’re Young
TAPE 1: SIDE B
14. Caledonia Is Calling
15. The Dream Song
16. Mary Mack
17. Oh Willie Boy
18. The King
19. Farewell to Ansteorra
20. The Rising of the Star
21. Vergio
22. Golden Eyes
23. Song of the Picts
24. Drink to the Sword
26. Scotland the Brave
TAPE 2: SIDE A
1.
Calling-On Song, A
2.
Elf Glade
3.
Giant
4.
Baron of Eastmarch
5.
Rolling World
6.
The Ballad of Glencoe
7.
Song of the Shield Wall
8.
Captain Jack and the Mermaid
9.
Fellowship Going South (What Is
Courage Now?)
10. Witch of the Westmoreland
11. Round: Sing, Sing Together
TAPE 2: SIDE B
12. The Bait
2
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
Mary O’Meara
MacIntyre
Jug of Punch
The Burden of the Crown
Ramblin’ Rover
An Anthem for Ansteorra
Do You Remember
Scots Wae Hae
Bonny Black Hare
Wild Mountain Thyme
Round: Sing with Thy Mouth
TAPE 3: SIDE A
1.
Circles
2.
Lay the Bend to the Bonnie Broom
3.
Men of Harlech
4.
Woad of Harlech
5.
The Fair Maid by the Seashore
6.
There Were Three Ravens
7.
Twa Corbies
8.
The Broom of the Cowdenknows
9.
The Golden Vanity
10. The Scotsman
11. Will Ye Gang Love?
12. Round: Sumer Is Icumin In
13. Round: Oaken Leaves
TAPE 3: SIDE B
14. Green Grow the Rashes O
15. Green Grow the Rashes O (Version 2)
16. Such a Parcel of Rogues
17. All Around My Hat
18. Carlow
19. Fairy’s Love Song
20. Cambridge May Song
21. Fire in the Glen
22. Flowers of the Forest
23. Greensleeves
24. I Know Where I’m Going
25. Lowlands of Holland
26. Scarborough Faire
27. Temper of Revenge
Alphabetical Table of Contents
Newcomer’s Songbook
Second Edition
(Updated 2-1-93)
3-17
2-18
1-7
2-12
2-6
2-4
1-5
1-9
2-21
3-8
2-16
1-14
2-1
3-20
2-8
3-18
3-1
2-19
1-15
1-24
2-2
3-5
3-19
1-19
2-9
3-21
3-22
1-11
2-3
1-22
3-9
3-14
3-15
3-23
3-24
1-12
2-15
1-18
All Around My Hat
Anthem for Ansteorra, An
Ash Grove, The
Bait, The
Ballad of Glencoe, The
Baron of Eastmarch, The
Bog Down in the Valley-O, The
Bonny Black Hare
Broom of the Cowdenknows, The
Burden of the Crown, The
Caledonia Is Calling Me
Calling-On Song, A
Cambridge May Song
Carlow
Circles
Do You Remember?
Dream Song, The
Drink to the Sword
Elf Glade
Fair Maid by the Seashore, The
Fairy’s Love Song
Farewell to Ansteorra
Fellowship Going South
Fire in the Glen
Flowers of the Forest
Four Green Fields
Giant
Golden Eyes
Golden Vanity
Green Grow the Rashes-O
Green Grow the Rashes-O (Version 2)
Greensleeves
I Know Where I’m Going
I’m a Rover
Jug of Punch
King, The
3-2
3-25
2-14
1-4
1-13
1-16
2-13
3-3
1-3
1-17
1-10
2-17
1-20
2-5
2-11
2-23
3-12
3-13
3-26
1-25
3-10
2-20
1-23
2-7
1-2
3-16
3-27
3-6
1-6
3-7
1-21
1-8
2-22
3-11
1-1
2-10
3-4
Lay the Bend to the Bonnie Broom
Lowlands of Holland, The
Macintyre
Maids When You’re Young
Mary Mack
Mary O’Meara
Men of Harlech
Minstrel Boy, The
Oh Willie Boy
Old Cliché Revisited, An
Ramblin’ Rover
Rising of the Star, The
Rolling World, The
Round: Sing, Sing Together
Round: Sing with Thy Mouth
Round: Sumer Is Icumin In
Round: Oaken Leaves
Scarborough Faire
Scotland the Brave
Scotsman, The
Scots, Wha Hae
Song of the Picts
Song of the Shield Wall
Spring Strathspey
Such a Parcel of Rogues
Temper of Revenge, The
Twa Corbies, The
Vergio
Wild Mountain Thyme
Will Ye Gang Love?
Wind in the Pipes
Witch of the Westmorland
Woad of Harlech
3
1-1
Wind in the Pipes
(a round with a period feel)
by Meg Davis
Welcome to a moon-filled night of strange and wondrous tales,
Of ancient kings and mystic rings and ships with painted sails,
Of how I came to be here, and where I wish to go,
And all my deepest secrets which you will come to know.
Settle back and dream awhile and come along with me.
We’ll walk the ancient forests and sail the deepest seas.
So let your heart go rambling; there’s much we have to see,
From where we are this moment to where we hope to be.
1-2
Spring Strathspey
(Period Feel)
Merdin was playing his pipe in the woods,
And it sounded so good to my feelings.
Hi-ree, hi-roo stirred the dance in my blood,
And my sweet maidenhood started reeling.
Chorus:
Sweetly, it drew me; the sound it went through me,
As if sure he knew me a maiden song, laughing long.
I’m sure that I hear it, oh let me draw near it.
I want to be, merrily, courted in spring.
Round us the trees formed a wheel in my mind,
As if all woman kind were careering.
Softly, he touched me, our hands intertwined,
As we gently reclined in clearing.
Starfall to dewfall, he made love to me,
In a manner so free and revealing.
Swift-footed, light-footed, goat-footed he,
played his sweet melody with such feeling.
4
1-3
The Minstrel Boy
(period feel-originally a
19th. c. poem by Thomas Moore.
Sung to the tune "The Moreen")
The minstrel boy to the war has gone; in the ranks of
death you will find him.
His father’s sword he has girded on, and his wild
harp’s slung behind him.
Land of songs cried the warrior bard, though all the
world betray thee.
One sword at least thy rights shall guard; one loyal tongue
shall praise thee.
The minstrel fell but the foeman’s chains could not bring
his proud soul under.
The harp he loved ne’er spoke again for he tore its
chords asunder.
And said, No chains shall sully thee, thou soul of love
and bravery,
Thy songs were meant for the pure and the free,
They shall never sound in slavery.
5
1-4
(Period feel - Music and words
by HL Margery de Bray)
All our lives we’ve been uncomfortable, like sailors apart from the sea.
Our souls they did hunger; but not any longer.
We’ve found now where we want to be.
Where our presents and pasts come together.
What we were and are now can agree.
Though I can’t explain how; I know here with you now.
We’ve somehow bridged eternity.
Chorus:
So cross your arms on your chest. Lift your eyes and say “yes”.
Join hands with those by your side.
I can feel the love flowing. I can feel the power growing
Of emotions we don’t need to hide.
Like a Celtic circle entwining, in time no beginning or end.
There’s a smile on each face, for we’ve here a place,
In this kingdom with brothers and friends.
Beneath the moon and stars tonight, or ‘neath the bright southern sun.
My heart wants to sing, as here in this ring,
I’ve found love strong as rivers that run.
A love for nature’s beauty, a love for the iron that sings,
For honor so strong, for art and for song,
And a love for our land and our king.
1-5
(Just for fun!)
H.R. Jones/Meg Davis
Everyone knows someone they’d be better off without.
But let’s not mention names for we don’t know who’s about.
But why commit a murder and risk the fires of hell,
When black widows in the privy will do it just as well?
Now poison’s good and arrows, and daggers in the back,
And if you’re really desperate, you can try a front attack.
But are they worthy of the risk of being caught?
When black widows in the privy need not be bribed or bought.
So if there is someone of which you simply must be rid.
Just wait till dark and point the way to where the widows hid.
And say to them, “I think you’ll find that this one is the best."
And black widows in the privy will gladly do the rest.
6
1-6
(The Dark Horde)
(period-feel)
The Sands of the Gobi lie gold in the sun,
The warriors and herdsmen ride free,
But somewhere a voice calls “Move on, move on,
Tomorrow belongs to me.”
Ride westward my children, new pastures are green.
Rich cities encircle the sea,
‘Tis time for your glory so rise and sing
Tomorrow belongs to me.
The Atenveldt’s grown much too large to defend,
The West has her back to the sea,
The East and the Middle are weak from war,
Meridies weakens from internal strife,
Caid is her own enemy,
And young Calontir is a babe in arms,
Ride westward my children, we’ll show them a sign.
United we’ll always be free.
The morning will come when the world shall know,
The stars are there waiting, they won’t come to us.
We must make our own destiny.
We shall gather the stars in our hands like dust,
Tomorrow belongs, Tomorrow belongs,
7
1-7
The Ashgrove (Period)
The Ashgrove, how graceful, how plainly ‘tis speaking,
The harp through its playing has language for me.
Whenever the light through its branches is breaking,
A host of kind faces is gazing on me.
The friends of my childhood again are before me.
Each step wakes a memory as freely I roam.
With soft whispers laden, its leaves rustle o’er me.
The Ashgrove, the Ashgrove alone is my home.
My laughter is over, my step loses lightness,
Old countryside measures steal soft on my ear.
I only remember the past and its brightness,
The dear ones I mourn for again gather here.
From out of the shadows their loving looks greet me,
And wistfully searching the leafy green dome,
I find other faces fond bending to greet me.
The Ashgrove, the Ashgrove alone is my home.
1-8
(Period-feeling since written by Peter Beagle to the tune of “Ash Grove”)
When I was a young man, and very well thought of,
I couldn’t ask aught that the ladies denied.
I nibbled their hearts like a handful of raisins
And I never spoke love but I knew that I lied.
But I said to myself, “Ah, they none of them know
The secret I shelter and savor and save.
I wait for the one who will see through my seeming.
And I’ll know when I love by the way I behave."
The years drifted over like the clouds in the heavens.
The ladies went by me like snow on the wind.
I charmed and I cheated, deceived and dissembled.
And I sinned, and I sinned, and I sinned, and I sinned.
But I said to myself, “Ah, they none of them see,
There’s a part of me pure as the whisk of a wave.
My lady is late, but she’ll find I’ve been faithful.
And I'll know when I love by the way I behave.”
At last came a lady both knowing and tender,
Saying, ‘You’re not at all what they take you to be.”
I betrayed her before she had quite finished speaking,
And she swallowed cold poison and jumped in the sea.
And I say to myself, when there’s time for a word,
As I gracefully grow more debauched and depraved,
“Ah, love may be strong, but a habit is stronger,
And I knew when I loved by the way I behaved.”
8
The Ashgrove / When I Was a Young Man
9
1-9
The Bog Down in the Valley-O
(period feel and listed as “traditional Irish”)
Chorus: Hey-ho the rattlin’ bog
The bog down in the valley-o
Hey-ho the rattlin bog
The bog down in the valley-o
1.
In this bog there was a root,
A rare root, a rattlin’ root.
Root in the bog
And the bog down in the valley-o.
3.
Chorus
2.
On this root there was a tree
A rare tree, a rattlin’ tree
Tree on the root
And the root in the bog
And the bog down in the valley-o
On this tree there was a limb
A rare limb, a rattlin’ limb.
Limb on the, tree
Tree on the root
Root in the bog
The bob down in the valley-o.
Chorus
Chorus
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
10
branch
twig
nest
bird
wing
9.
10.
11.
12.
feather
bug
spot
hair
1-10
An Old Cliché Revisited
(Fun song by R. Farran to the tune of the "Irish Washerwoman")
Oh a dragon has come to our village today.
We’d like him to leave, but he won’t go away.
He talked to our king, and they worked out a deal.
No homes will he burn, and no stock will he steal.
Now there is but one catch (we dislikes it a
bunch),
Twice a year he invites him a virgin for lunch.
We don’t have much choice so the deal we’ll
respect,
But we can’t help but wonder and pause to reflect.
Chorus:
Do virgins taste better than girls who are not?
Are they saltier, sweeter, more juicy, or what?
Do you savor ‘em slowly, gulp ‘em down on the
spot?
Do virgins taste better than girls who are not?
Now we’d like to be shed of ya, and many have
tried.
But no one can get through your thick, scaly hide.
We hope that some day a brave soul will come by.
But we can’t wait around till you’re too fat to fly.
Now you have such good taste in your women for
sure.
They always are pretty. They always are pure.
But your notion of dining, it makes us all flinch.
For your favorite entree is barbequed wench.
Chorus
Now we’ve found a solution. It works out so neat.
If you’ll settle for nothing but virgins to eat.
No more will our numbers grow ever so small.
We’ll simply make sure we’ve no virgins at all.
Chorus
1-11
Four Green Fields (Makem)
(actually an IRA song referring to the
sections of Ireland, but it has a good
period feel to it.)
“What did I have?” said the fine old woman.
“What did I have?” this proud old woman did say.
“I had four green fields, each one was a jewel.
But strangers came and tried to take them from me.
I had fine, strong sons. They fought to save my jewels.
They fought and they died and that was my grief’ said she.
“Long time ago,” said the fine old woman.
“Long time ago,’ this proud old woman did say.
“There was war and death, plundering and pillage.
My people starved by mountain, valley, and sea.
And their wailing cries, they reached the very heavens,
And my four green fields ran red with their blood,” said she.
What have I now?’ said the fine old woman.
“What have I now?” this proud old woman did say.
"I have tour green fields; one of them’s in bondage.
In strangers hands that tried to take it from me.
But my sons they had sons, as brave as were their fathers,
And my fourth green field will bloom once again,” said she.
11
1-12
Chorus:
I’m a Rover
(Period feel)
I’m a rover, seldom sober, I’m a rover of high degree.
It’s when I’m drinkin’ I’m always thinkin’
How to win my love’s company.
Though the night be as dark as dungeon,
Not a star to be seen above,
I will be guided without a stumble,
Into the arms of my own true love.
She opened the door with the greatest pleasure.
She opened the door, and she let him in.
They both shook hands and embraced each other.
Until the mornin’ they lay as one.
He steppit up to her bedroom window.
Kneelin’ gently upon a stone,
He rappit then at her bedroom window.
“Darlin’ dear, do you lie alone?”
The cocks were crowin’; the birds were whistlin’
The burns they ran free abune the brae.
“Remember, lass, I’m a ploughman laddie.
And the farmer I must obey.”
She raised her head on her snow white pillow,
With her arms held about her breast.
“What is that at my bedroom window,
Disturbin’ me at my long night’s rest?”
“Now my love, I must go and leave you,
To climb the hills, they are far above;
But I will climb them with the greatest pleasure,
Since I’ve been in the arms of my true love.”
“It’s only me, your own true lover,
Open the door now and let me in.
For I have come on a long journey,
And I’m near drenched unto the skin.”
12
1-13
Maids When You’re Young
(A bit o’bawdy just for fun)
An old man came courtin’ me, Hey, din-do-rum-da
An old man came courtin me, me being young.
An old man came courtin’ me, Fain would he marry me.
Maids when you’re young, never wed an old man.
Chorus:
‘Cause he’s got no falorum-fi-diddle-ay-oorum.
He’s got no falorum, fl-diddle-oh-day.
He’s got no falorum. He’s lost his ding-do-rum.
When we went down to the church, Hey …
When we went down to the church, Me …
When we went down to the church, he left me in the lurch.
Chorus
When we went off tae bed, Hey …
When we went off tae bed, Me …
When we went off tae bed, he lay as if he were dead.
Chorus
So I threw me leg over him, Hey …
I threw me leg over him, Me …
I threw me leg over him, damn well near smothered him.
Chorus
When he went off tae sleep, Hey …
When he went off tae sleep, Me …
When he went off tae sleep, out of bed I did creep,
And into the arms of a handsome young man.
For he had his falorum-fi-diddle-ay-oorum.
He had his falorum-fa-diddle-oh day.
He had his falorum. He got my ding-dorum.
Maids when you’re young, never wed an old man!
13
1-14
Caledonia is Calling
(period feel)
I don’t know if you can see the changes that have come over me.
These last few days, I’ve been afraid that I might drift away.
I’ve been telling old stories, singing songs,
That make me think about where I came from.
That’s the reason why I seem so far away today.
Chorus:
Let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time.
Caledonia is calling me, and now I’m going home.
If I should become a stranger,
Know that it would make me more than sad.
Caledonia’s been everything I’ve ever had.
I have moved and I’ve kept on moving
Proved the points that I needed proving.
Lost the friends that I needed losing,
Found others on the way.
I have kissed the ladies and left them crying.
Stolen dreams, yes, there’s no denying.
I have traveled hard sometimes with conscience flying,
Somewhere with the wind.
Now I’m sitting here before the fire.
The empty room, the forest choir.
The dreams that couldn’t get any higher,
They’ve withered, now they’ve gone.
But I’m steady thinking; my way is clear.
And I knew what I will do tomorrow.
When the hands are shaking and the kisses flow.
Well, I will disappear.
1-15
The Dream Song
(Period feel by Joe Bethancourt)
Last night I had the strangest dream in this bleak century,
I dreamed that people the world around believed in chivalry.
I dreamed I saw a kingly crown enshrined in laurel leaves.
With grace and purity attendant at his feet.
I dreamed I saw the perfect knight receive his accolade,
And minstrels sang and children laughed in some soft forest glade.
I dreamed I saw the finest thing that ever man could make.
Grow great and strong and undefiled, pray God I never wake.
Repeat first stanza
14
1-16
Mary Mack
(Great fun. AKA “The Wolfstar Sobriety Test”)
Ah, there’s a little girl, and her name is Mary
Mack.
Now make no mistake, she’s the girl I’m gonna
track.
A lot of other fella’s ‘ll be getting off their
backs,
But I’m thinking that they’ll have to get up
early.
Chorus: Mary Mack’s father’s making Mary
Mack marry me.
My father’s making me marry Mary Mack.
I’m gonna marry Mary ‘cause my Mary will
take care of me.
We’ll all be feelin’ merry when I marry Mary
Mack.
She’s a wee lass, and she’s got a lot of brass.
She’s got a lot of class, and her father thinks I’m
daft.
And I’d be a silly ass for to let the matter pass.
But her father thinks she suits me rather firly.
Now Mary and her mother go an awful lot
together.
In fact, ya hardly ever see the one without the
other.
The fellows often wonder if it’s Mary or her
mother
When they see us out together when we’re
courtin’.
Now the weddin’s on a Wednesday and
everyting’s arranged.
And soon her name’ll change to mine unless her
mind be changed.
We’re making the arrangements – I’m just about
deranged.
For marriage is an awful undertakin’.
It’s sure to be a grand affair, grander than the
fair,
There’s gonna be a coach and pair for every
couple there.
We’ll dine upon the finest fare; I’m sure tae get
my share,
If I don’t, then I’ll be very much mistaken.
Repeat chorus but faster!!
15
1-17
Oh Willie Boy
(Words by Mistress Catrin Ferch Gwilym to the tune of “Danny Boy”)
Note: Even Master Blackfox was a “green” piper at one time as this song relates. So musicians (and
listeners) take heart.
Oh Willie boy, the pipes, the pipes are bawling
From end to end of all the tourney site
The flowers die; the populace is calling
“ ‘Tis you, ‘tis you must stop, or you will die.”
But you’ll play on with yet another melody
“Amazing Grace” or “Bonnie Blue Dundee”,
And we will warn the unsuspecting mudanes
Oh Willie boy, oh Willie boy, they just don’t know.
Oh Willie boy, the leaves, the leaves are falling
Down from the trees though it is only May
An people think some poor cat you are mauling
Another kitty bites the dust today.
But you’ll play on though causing constipation.
“Scotland the Brave” will never end it seems.
Mental revenge our only consolation,
We’ll fill you pipes with concrete in our dreams!
1-18
The King
(Possibly Period)
Joy, health, love, and peace be all here in this place.
By your leave, we will sing concerning our King.
Our King is well-dressed in silks of the best.
In ribbons so rare, no King can compare.
We have traveled many miles, over hedges and stiles,
In search of our King, unto you we bring.
We have powder and shot to conquer the lot,
We have cannon and ball, to conquer them all.
Old Christmas is past. Twelve time is the last.
And we bid you adieu. Pray joy to the new!
16
1-19
Chorus:
Farewell to Ansteorra
(Though written by Alaric ap Morgan to the tune of “Farewell to Nova Scotia”,
this song has a period feel and is an Ansteorran classic.)
Farewell to Ansteorra, that sun-blessed land.
Let your hamlets bright and cheery be.
When I am far away over mighty mountains tall,
Will you ever heave a sigh or a wish for me?
I hate to leave my native home,
I loathe to leave my comrades all,
But I must hie away over hill and plain,
For my captain calls, and I must obey.
Red war does cry on every side,
Our swords are broken, bent, or dulled.
Bur Ansteorra stand like a shield in the sun,
And Honor and Glory shall e’er be our pride.
My own true love did bid me stay,
She would not part our company,
But honor calls “To horse and away!”
For no slight shall mar our Kingdom free.
(Slowly)
I lay me down this night to die
My wounds are grievous; I’ve greatly bled,
But Ansteorra’s life means more than mine,
For Love and Beauty must ne’er wash away.
Chorus: one slow and one up tempo.
1-20
The Rising of the Star
(Original words – Balthazar of Endo)
(Other verses by assorted Ansteorrans)
(Music – Rising of the Moon)
Now then tell me folk in Atenveldt, oh have ye heard it said
That the sun upon your banner has turned a bloody red?
We’re coming from the southlands; ye don’t know who we are,
We’re the folk from Ansteorra at the rising of the Star.
Oh the rising of the Star, oh the rising of the Star.
We’re the folk from Ansteorra at the rising of the Star.
Now many a folk have tried us, on many a bloody field,
A precious few have killed us, because we never yield.
We’ve powder for our cannons, grape-shot and boilin’ tar.
We’re your friends from Ansteorra at the rising of the Star.
Now the Ansteorran summers are seven months in length.
The rivers loose their waters and the fighters loose their strength.
We’re swooning in the tourney, and fainting at the war,
We long for cool November and the rising of the Star.
We long for cool November and the rising of the Star.
Now the Ansteorran ladies will make ye lovely wives,
But check their skirts and bodices, they always carry knives
They say their iron mongery, their beauty will not mar.
They’ll thrill you or they’ll kill you at the rising of the Star.
They’ll thrill you or they’ll kill you at the rising of the Star.
17
Oh the Ansteorran children are ever so polite.
But don’t turn your backs upon them, the little buggers bite!
Their cunning none surpasses, you know they’ll travel far.
They’re the heirs of Ansteorra at the rising of the Star.
They’re the heirs of Ansteorra at the rising of the Star.
Now the bards of Ansteorra are very long of wind.
Their verses have no rhythm and their stories never end.
A tune the cannot carry in a bucket or a jar,
But they’ll revel until daylight and the rising of the Star.
But they’ll revel until daylight and the rising of the Star.
Now we have got Sir Simon, who’s called the Mountain-gate.
That isn’t silver acne, he’s just dressed in his steel plate.
He’s got a shield of iron, a sword made from a spar.
He’s a count from Ansteorra at the rising of the Star.
He’s a count from Ansteorra at the rising of the Star.
And we have got Duke Inman, whose name is known with fear.
He’s deadly with a broadsword, but he’s murder with a spear.
He’s won the crown for five times now, not even breathing hard.
The once and every other king at the rising of the Star.
And we have got Drusilla, the short, plump, red-haired one.
Who taught the kingdom how to spell “P-H-U-N – fun!”
Whether in her cups or sober, she’s much more fun by far,
Than any other queen we’ve had at the rising of the Star.
We’ve got Lloyd von Eaker, a Duke mighty for his size.
He shrugs off broken fingers, and he’ll mutilate your thighs.
He’ll not be taken lightly though he stands just five foot four
He’s a viper clad in motley at the rising of the Star.
He’s a viper clad in motley at the rising of the Star.
And we have got Sir Denar, who won the fourteenth crown,
When Duke Lloyd and Duke Inman yielded in the final round.
The shouts rose up to heaven, and echoed near and far.
“Vivat for Ansteorra and the rising of the Star.”
“Vivat for Ansteorra and the rising of the Star.”
And we have got Duke Seamus, a tiger proud and true.
If you should meet him on the field, he’ll leave you black and blue.
For blue’s his favorite color and gold same as the stars.
He’s our Ansteorran tiger by the rising of the Star.”
He’s our Ansteorran tiger by the rising of the Star.”
18
And we’ve got Baron Arthur, a knight in grey and black
For courage on or off the field, we know he’ll never lack.
He is a feastocrat bar none, his meat’s the best by far.
And he stopped the rain at TYC by the rising of the Star.
And he stopped the rain at TYC by the rising of the Star.
Oh we’re just psychotic killers, we like to maim and gunch.
Don’t pack us any baskets, we’ll just eat your dead for lunch.
We’re brothers of the Normans, and Daughters of the Czars.
1-21
[All]
Vergio
(Period form of a Child ballad “Babylon”)
Three sisters went for a walk one
day,
Ah the lee and the lonely-o
Met a robber on their way,
On the bonny, bonny banks of
the Vergio.
[All]
He took the first one by the hand,
Whipped her ‘round and he made
her stand.
[Men]
“Oh, will you be a robber’s wife?
Or will you die my pen knife?”
[Women]
“Oh, I’ll not be a robber’s wife,
And I’ll not die by your pen knife.”
[Men]
[Women]
I’d rather die by your pen knife.”
[All]
So he took out his wee pen knife,
And there he took her own dear life.
He took the last one by the hand,
her stand.
“You have killed my sisters dear,
But you’d never done that if my
brother was here.”
[Men]
[Women]
He took the next one by the hand,
her stand.
[Men]
[Women]
I’d rather die by your pen knife.”
And there he took her own dear life.
“Oh, pray what does your brother
do?”
“He’s a robber, just like you.”
[Men]
“Oh, dear God, what have I done?
Murdered my sisters, all but one.”
[All]
And there he took his own dear life.
19
1-22
Golden Eyes
(Period Feel)
Music: Leslie Fish – Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey
A shadow in the bright bazaar, a pair of eyes where none should shine,
A pair of eyes translucent gold and slitted against the sun.
This the clue and this the sign that that puts her on his quarry’s mind,
For she has seen him in a dream, and now she’s on the run.
Faster than a thought she flees to seek the jungle’s sheltering trees.
But he is steady on her track and half a breathe behind.
She smells his scent upon the breeze, and looking past her shoulder sees.
He treads upon her shadow. She fears the hunter’s mind.
So she summons all her wit and every trick she knows to hide,
To throw him off her twisting track, to throw him off her trail
In woman form in leopard hide, fording, leaping side to side,
She doubles back upon her tracks and sees her efforts fail.
He stands before her dark and grim; her terror now she can’t suppress.
He blocks the only pathway out, and he will not let her by.
Her gold flanks heaving in distress, half woman and half leopardess,
As side to side, no place to hide; it’s time to fight or die.
What is this – to her amaze, the man has thrown his spear away.
Quietly he draws nearer now, a smile upon his face.
Before she thinks to run or stay, his body blurs like softened clay.
Before her eyes to her surprise – a leopard in his place.
The hunter they have sought in vain, and now the talk of the bazaar,
Is of a canny leopard pair, a sight none can forget.
Whoever’s seen them near or far, in sunlight or where shadows are,
As side by side they hunt and hide …
No one has caught them … yet!
20
1-23
Song (Men) of the Picts
by Rudyard Kipling
Rome never heeds where she treads,
Always her heavy hooves fall,
On our stomachs, our hearts and our heads,
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
Her sentries pass on, that is all,
And we gather behind them in hordes,
And plot to reconquer the wall,
With only our tongues for our swords.
We are the Little Folk, we,
Too little to love or to hate,
But leave us alone and you’ll see,
Just how we can drag down the state.
We are the worm in the wood,
We are the rot in the root,
We are the taint in the blood,
We are the thorn in the foot.
Mistletoe choking an oak,
Rats gnawing cables in two,
Moths making holes in a cloak,
How they must love what they do!
Yes, and we Little Folk, too.
We are as busy as they,
Working our works out of view,
But watch and you’ll see us someday.
No indeed, we are not strong,
But we know people who are,
And we, we will help them along,
To smash and destroy you in war.
Yes, we have always been slaves,
And yes, we will still be their slaves,
But you, you will die of the shame,
And then we will dance on your graves,
For we are the Little Folk, we,
Too little to love or to hate,
But leave us alone and you’ll see,
Just how we drag down the state!
21
1-24
Let’s Drink to the Sword
by Master Ragar
“What shall we do when tomorrow comes early?
And what shall we do when tomorrow comes nigh?”
“We’ll take to the longships and set the sail smartly.
We’ll take to the longships and set the sale high.”
Refrain:
And drink to the sword that sings merry in battle.
And drink to the foemen who gallantly die.
Let’s lift up our horns and drink deep till tomorrow,
Drink deep the mead till the barrel runs dry.
“What shall we do if the north wind is blowing?
And what shall we do if the north wind is tame?”
“By sail or by oar we will hasten to England
To pillage and plunder for fortune and fame.”
Refrain
“But what shall we do if a storm comes a-squalling
With thunder and lightning and rain on the sea?”
“We’ll bail out the water and lift up our voices,
And sign with the hammer so Odin will see.”
Refrain
“And what shall we do when we land there in England
Beside a tall fortress so strong and so bold?”
“We’ll pound on our shields till the walls are a-crumbling,
Then cut down the soldiers and take all the gold.”
Refrain
“But what shall we do if the soldiers are many,
A thousand or more who will stand unafraid?”
“Then... we’ll sing them a song with great smiles on our faces,
For we are but merchants who’ve come here to trade!”
Refrain
22
1-25 Scotland the Brave
(not period, but a Scottish classic)
Har, when the night is falling,
Hear, hear the pipes are calling,
Loudly and proudly calling down through the glen.
There where the hills are sleeping.
Now feel the blood a’leaping.
High as the spirits of the old Highland men.
Chorus:
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland, the mountain hame.
High may your proud banners gloriously wave.
Land of the high endeavor,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart forever.
Scotland the brave.
High in the misty highlands,
Out by the purple islands.
Brave are the hearts that beat beneath Scottish skies.
Wild are the winds that meet you,
Staunch are the friends that greet you.
Kind as the love that shines from fair maidens’ eyes.
Repeat chorus.
2-1
A Calling-On Song
Sung by Steeleye Span
Good people, pay heed and attention,
You attention, we beg and we crave,
And if you’re inclined for to listen,
An abundance of bard-craft we have.
Many tales of the poor and the gentry
Of labor and love will arise.
There are no finer songs in the country,
In Scotland, or Ireland likewise.
We are come to relate songs and stories
Concerning our forefathers’ time,
And we trust they will drive out your worries,
And in this we are all of like mind.
One more thing that we need here to mention,
The teasing we do all in fun
So now that you’ve heard our intentions,
We’ll play on to the beat of the drum.
23
2-2
Elf Glade
by Meg Davis
(Period Feel)
Yes they’re real – no, they can’t be.
Yes, they are; I’ve seen them walking,
Out beyond the wooded garden, through the town and through the valley.
Yes, they’re real – no they can’t be.
Yes, they are you are not hearing.
For I say I’ve seen them drinking in the taverns of the moon.
Chorus:
Steel and mail and gilded crossbow,
Feather of the ancient windbird.
Wide as wonder, tall as starlight.
Lords of earth, and lords of fire,
Like the love that they desire.
Lords of earth, and lords of fire,
Like the love that they desire.
Yes they’re real – no, they can’t be.
Come with me and see what might be.
I’m afraid – Oh, you are childish.
Nothing kills that does not know ye.
Come ye now – no, I fear thee.
Did I say that I would lead ye?
We have walked the farther side,
Out beyond the firelight.
Come ye now – no, I fear thee,
Come with me and I will take thee,
Dancing now with all my brothers,
I am real and like the others.
Yes they’re real, “No” you told me.
Yes they’re real. You should believe me.
Now we have you wrapped in darkness,
Now we keep you never leaving,
Trade you life for not believing.
Repeat chorus
24
2-3
Giant
by Stan Rogers
(The song has a wonderful eerie feel for a foggy night though not a period tune.
Fingal is a period character, however.)
Cold wind on the harbor and rain on the road,
Wet promise of winter brings recourse to coal.
There’s a fire in the blood and a fog on Bras d’Or;
The giant will rise with the moon.
‘Twas the same ancient fever in the Isles of the Blest
that our fathers brought with them when they went west.
It’s the blood of the Druids that never will rest,
Chorus:
So crash the glass down; move with the tide.
Young friends and old whiskey are burning inside.
Crash the glass down – Fingal will rise – With the moon.
In inclement weather the people are fey,
Three thousand year stories as the night slips away.
Remembering Fingal feel not far away.
The wind’s in the north, there’ll be new moon tonight,
And we have no Circle to dance in its sight,
So light a torch, bring the bottle, and build the fire bright,
Repeat chorus
Repeat first verse
25
2-4
The Baron of Eastmarch
(Period feel – AKA “Karelia’s Song” by Iolo Fitz Owen)
Oh the Baron of Eastmarch’s fair sorcerers daughter
Was enamored unseemly of a fool of her lord.
Now the Duke he was handsome, but he’d a soul vain and petty,
And a dark mind as empty as last summer’s gourd.
Now the fool he was clever, and he sang for his lady
Like a nightingale piping in a deep forest grove.
But his station was lowly, and his body was aging,
And their love was as hopeless as if it were stone.
So the lady has led them the fool and her husband
To a cool, secret garden ‘neath the midsummer’s moon.
And she’s danced them a spell there of shifting and changing,
And she’s left them dumfounded by sorcery’s boon.
Now she’s left the fool crying to the gods of his fathers,
And she’s led the Duke laughing to her high chamber door.
And she’s kept him there sweetly through two day’s bright dawning,
While the servants all gossip in wonder and awe.
Now the fool cries in madness claiming he was ensorcered,
And the Duke only smiles him a sad, secret smile.
And the Duke rules his kingdom with wit and good humor,
And sings to his lady like a nightingale’s song.
And she’s born him five children, 3 sons and 2 daughters,
And they’ve grown straight and handsome and sorcerers all,
And they dance in the moonlight and sing in the garden,
Like a nightingale’s piping in a deep forest grove.
26
2-5
The Rolling World
Barret & Smith
(a Celtic cycle song of the seasons)
The mother gives birth on night’s longest hour,
with the frost aglow on the green.
The Child of Light is reborn as the sun
to renew us on our journey unseen.
All life in the earth begins to unfold
as the waxing light is seen.
Each seedling will sprout into its own self
to inspire us to be truly free.
Chorus: And like the rolling world, the
wheel of life is a’turning.
We weave the circle dance, upon this rolling
world of learning.
The Maiden returns in blossoms so new,
to embrace her Mother in mirth.
And like children we play in the sweetness of
day,
and rejoice in Life’s return to the Earth.
The maypole is crowned with ribbons
so bright as lovers meet in desire.
Through woodlands and meadows we laugh in
the sun,
and the Dance of Life grows wild in the fire.
Chorus
The oak branch is placed in the bonfire’s blaze
their embrace dissolves into one.
Light triumphs this day, yet begins it’s decay,
as the wheel turns we spin ever on.
The corn and the grain gleam ripe in the field.
We have labored long in the soil.
Now we wait as our days fade into the night,
Will we be rewarded well for our toil?
Chorus
The harvest of plenty, we give thanks with joy,
as leaves are blown from the trees.
We gather to share in the wonderment there
of the Circle of Rebirth in the seed.
The Old Woman, she sits in front of the hearth,
She is wise and bids us come near.
We may pass in between what is seen and
unseen,
For the veil of Death is nothing to fear.
Chorus
27
2-6
The Ballad of Glencoe
(a real event in Scottish history, though slightly out of period for us - 1692)
Chorus:
Cruel is the snow that sweeps Glencoe and covers the grave o’ Donald.
And cruel was the fore that raked Glencoe and murdered the house of MacDonald.
They cam in a blizzard; we gave them our heat.
Warm clothes for their backs, dry shoes for their feet.
We wined them, and dined them; they ate of our meat.
And they slept in the house of MacDonald.
They came from Fort William with murder in mind.
The Campbells had orders King William had signed.
“Put all to the sword” were these words underlined,
“Leave none of the house of MacDonald.”
They cam in the night through snow soft and deep,
That band of Argyles when men were asleep.
Like murdering foxes amongst helpless sheep.
Aye, they slaughtered the house of MacDonald.
Some died in their beds at the hands of their foes.
Some fled in the night and were lost in the snow.
Some lived to accuse them who struck the first blow,
Aye, but gone was the house of MacDonald.
28
2-7
Song of the Shield Wall: Four Hundred Years of Saxon History
LY Malkin Grey and LY Peregrynne Windrider
(Debra Doyle and Melissa Williamson)
Hasten, O sea-steed, over the swan-road,
Foamy-necked ships o’er the froth of the sea!
Hengest has called us from Gotland and Frisia
To Vortigrn’s country his army to be.
We’ll take our pay there in sweeter than silver;
We’ll take our plunder in richer than gold,
For Hengest has promised us land for our fighting,
Land for the sons of the Saxons to hold.
Hasten, O Fyrds-men, down to the river.
The dragonships come on the in-coming tide!
The linden-wood shield and the old spear of ash-wood
Are needed again by the cold waterside.
Draw up the shield-wall, O shoulder-companions;
Later, whenever our story is told,
They’ll say that we died guarding what we called dearest,
Land that the sons of the Saxons will hold.
Hasten, O horse-carls, north to the Dane-law,
Harald Hardrada’s come over the sea!
His longships he’s loaded with barsearks from Norway
To gain Canute’s crown and our masters to be.
Bitter he’ll find here the bite of our spear points;
Hard ruling Northmen too strong to die old.
We’ll grant him six feet, plus as much as he’s taller
Of land that the sons of the Saxons will hold.
Make haste, son of Godwin, southward from Stamford.
Triumph is sweet and your men have fought hard,
But William the Bastard has landed at Pevensey,
Burning the land you have promised to guard.
Draw up the spear on the hilltop at Hastings,
Fight till the sun drops and evening grows cold,
And die with the last of your Saxons around you,
Holding the land you were given to hold.
Hasten, O sea-steed, over the swan-road,
Foamy-necked ships o’er the froth of the sea!
Hengest has called us from Gotland and Frisia
To Vortigrn’s country his army to be.
We’ll take our pay there in sweeter than silver;
We’ll take our plunder in richer than gold,
For Hengest has promised us land for our fighting,
Land for the sons of the Saxons to hold.
29
2-8
Meg Davis
(good group song around the fire)
Captain Jack was a young man when he went to sea.
Oh the young ladies go and kiss him goodbye.
He was barely a child of twenty and three.
Go tell him young ladies, go and tell him for me,
He can marry the mermaid and live in the sea.
Oh I loved Captain Jack and his bride I would be.
(Group Refrain)
We were soon to be married, my Jackie and me.
(Group Refrain)
Well his ship had a need of a captain one day.
He took charge of the riggin’ and soon sailed away.
When three years had passed and his ship did return.
I went down to the sea for the man I had earned.
But my Jack was not there when I went to see.
And this is the tale the crew told to me
(Melody & tempo changes and no longer is there a repeated refrain)
It was only eight bells and Jack had the watch.
He was finnin’ and skinnin’ the fish he had caught.
When out of the sea there arose such a tune
As he had not heard by the light of the moon..
He looked over the waters and what saw he there
But a beautiful maiden with gold in her hair.
She had a gown made of seaweed and a crown on her head.
As he looked at the maiden she quietly said.
I have followed your ship for many a mile.
One day the sea reflected your smile.
I’ll give you mi kingdom eternally
If you’ll marry this mermaid and live in the sea.
Well, Jack was in love with the beautiful girl
So he jumped overside in the watery swirl.
She took Jackie’s hand, and she led him away.
And we trolled all those waters till dawn the next day.
We tolled the bell loud; we tolled the bell long.
And the looks on out faces were haggard a d dra3wn.
When out of the sea Jackie rose like a king,
And this is the message he bade us to bring.
I have longed lobed the lady who lives on the land,
But my life with the mermaid is ever so grand.
Won’t you go to my lady – please ask her for me
May I marry the mermaid and I’ve in the sea?
30
Well this is the tale I heard from the crew.
My tears thy were many; my choices were few.
I went down to the sea, the ship’s bell to ring.
And these were the words I was heard tell to sing.
(Return to original melody and repeated refrain)
Captain Jack was a young man when he went to sea.
Oh the young ladies go and kiss him goodbye.
He was barely a child of twenty and three.
Tell him young ladies, go and tell him for me,
Tell him young ladies, go and tell him for me,
2-9
Fellowship Going South
(What Is Courage Now?)
Leslie Fish/Catherine Cook
What is courage now?
Is it just to go until we’re done?
Men may call us heroes when they can say
we’ve won
But if we should fail, how the?
Star above the world,
Seeing down the ways that we must go.
Throw down light to guide a friend, or how else
can we know
If there’s hope where pathways end?
Star above the world.
Mountains to our side,
Standing like a will against the sky.
Show no path to let us through, yet still we
search and try
Silver snow and stone, cold blue,
Mountains to our side.
In the hope we know that holds us fast,
Bear us to the final door and win us free at last,
Or we touch this world no more,
River from the pines,
We can hear your echo far away.
To your banks our step must lead. Help us on
our way.
We who know you lend your speed,
River from the pines.
31
2-10
Witch of the Westmoreland
By Archie Fisher
Pale was the wounded knight that bore the rowan shield
Loud and cruel were the ravens cries as they feasted on the field
Saying “Beck water cold and clear will never heal thy wounds
There’s none but the Maid of the Winding Mere can make thee hail and sound”
So course well me brindle hound and fetch me the mountain heart
Whose coat is as gray as the west water and white as the lily fair
Who said “Green moss and ever boughs will never staunch the flood
There’s none but the Witch of the Westmoreland can save thy dear life’s blood
So turn, turn your stallion’s head ‘til his red mane flies in the wind
And the rider of the moon goes by and the bright stars fall behind
And clear was the paley moon when his shadow passed him by
Below the hill were the brightest stars when he heard the owlet cry
Saying “Why do you ride this way and wherefore seek you here?”
“I seek the Witch of the Westmoreland that dwells by the winding mere”
“Then fly free your good gray hawk to gather the golden rod
And face your horse into the clouds above yon angry moor”
And it’s weary by the Ulswater, and the misty brak fern way
When through the cleft of the Kirkstane Pass the winding water lay
He said “Lie down my brindle hound and rest ye my good gray hawk
And ye my steed may graze thy fill for I must dismount and walk
But come when you hear my horn and answer swift the call
For I fear e’er the sun will rise this morn you’ll serve me best of all
And it’s down to the waters brim he’s born the rowan shield
And the golden rod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield
And wet rose she from the lake and fast and fleet went she
One half the form of a maiden fair with a jet black mares body
And loud, long, and shrill he blew ‘til his steed was by his side
High over head his gray hawk flew and swiftly he did ride
Saying course well my brindle hound and fetch me the jet black mare
Stoop and strike my good gray hawk and bring me the maiden fair
She said, Pray sheath thy silvery sword, lay down thy rowan shield
For I see by the briny blood that flows you’ve been wounded in the field
And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue, bound ‘round with silver chain
And she’s kissed his pale lips once and twice, then three times round again
She’s bound his wounds with the golden rod, full fast in her arms he lay
And he has risen hale and sound with the sun high in the day
And she’s said ride with your brindle hound at heel and your good gray hawk in hand
There’s none can harm the knight whose lain with the Witch of the Westmoreland
32
2-11
Round: Sing, Sing Together
Sing, sing together. Happily, merrily sing.
Sing, sing together. Happily, merrily sing.
Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!
2-12
The Bait
Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey / Music: Julia Ecklar
33
He plunges through the forest night;
His eyes are wide with fear.
Behind him he can hear the sounds that mean the hunt is near,
And fair before him is the trap,, and in the trap, the bait.
He trembles, kneels, and lays his horn upon the lap of fate.
And now the hunt converges on the spellbound unicorn,
The hunters mean to slay the beast, and take his precious horn,
So gleeful in their greed and lust, they have not paused to see,
This maid is not the peasant girl that they left tied to the tree.
Now as they raise their spears, she casts red lightning form her hands,
Their limbs are bound fast to their sides as if with iron bands.
She rises; in her voice is rage, and hatred in her eyes.
“Cruel killers of a dream, full well, you merit death,” she cries.
“Though you spread terror, pain, and fear, rough justice shall you see,
And as you have the hunters been, so shall you hunted be.”
Now once again, out from her hands, the lightnings, dance and flare,
Where there once stood each man was now a small and frightened hare.
From moon to sun to moon again, run hunted, evil men,
And pray the Lady spares your lives, They fled in terror then,
She said, “There’s others of your kind, they too may die unless,
Shall we turn hunter, you and I?”
The unicorn said, “Yes.”
34
2-13
Mary O’Meara
Words: Paul Anderson
Music: Anne Passovoy
Mary O’Meara, the stars and the dewfall
Have covered your hilltop with light
The wind in the lilies that blossom around you
Goes bearing your name from the height;
My girl, you are all of the night.
The son shall ride home on the surf of the starling,
And leap to the shores of the sky,
Take wing on the wind, and the odor of lilies
And Mary O’Meara-ward fly,
And whisper your name where you lie.
A ship out of shadow bears homeward by
starlight,
By stars, and the loom of your hill;
A hand at a brow is uplifted in peering,
Saluting and shaking with chill;
My girl, are you waiting there still?
So softly you hear it, now Mary O’Meara,
But soon it rings joyful and clear,
And soon, in the shadow and dew of your hilltop,
A star-guided footfall rings near,
My only beloved, I’m here.
I’ll sing you a song about Mary O’Meara
With stars like a crown in her hair,
Sing of her memory ranging before me
Wherever the way that I fare,
My joy is to know she is there.
Sleep soft once again, if you wake in your darkness,
Sleep knowing you are my delight.
As long as the stars wheel the years down the
heavens,
As long as the lilies bloom white,
My darling, I kiss you goodnight.
35
2-14
McIntyre (The Old Dun Cow)
Some friends and I in a public house
Was playin’ Dominoes one night
When into the room a fireman came, his face all chalky-white
“What’s up?” says Brown, “Have you seen a ghost?
Have you seen your Aunt Mariah?”
“Oh me Aunt Mariah be bugged,” says he,
“The bleedin’ pub’s on fire!”
“Oh,” says Brown, “What a bit of luck, everybody follow me,
It’s down to the cellar, if the fire’s not there,
Oh, we’ll have a grand old spree.”
So we all went down with good old Brown
And the booze we could not miss
We hadn’t been there ten minutes or more
‘Til we were quite like this ...
Chorus:
There was Brown, upside down, moppin’ up the whiskey on the floor
“Booze, booze!” the fireman cried as they came a knockin’ at the door
Oh don’t let ‘em in ‘til it’s all mopped up
Somebody shouted Macintyre
And we all got blue-blind, paralytic drunk,
When the Old Dun Cow caught fire.
Then Smith run over to the port wine tub
And gave it just a few hard knocks (thump, thump)
Started takin’ off his pantaloons, likewise his shoes and socks
“Hold on,” says Brown, “That ain’t allowed,
You can’t do that there here
Don’t go washin’ your trotters in the portwine tub
When we got Guinness’s beer!!”
Chorus
And then there came a mighty crash, half the bloody roof caved in
We was drowned in the firemen’s hose, though we were almost... happy.
So, we got some tacks and old wet sacks, and we tacked ourselves inside
And we sat there getting bleary-eyed drunk
When the old Dun Cow caught fire.
36
2-15
Jug of Punch
(Period Feel)
One pleasant evening in the month of June,
As I sat down with my glass and spoon.
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch,
And the song he sang was a Jug of Punch.
Too-rah-loo-rah-loo, too-rah-loo-rah-lay,
Too-rah-loo-rah-loo, too-rah-loo-rah-lay,
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was a jug of punch.
What more devotion could a man desire
Than to sit him down by an alehouse fire.
And on his knee a pretty wench,
And on the table is a jug of punch.
(Chorus and last two lines of verse 2)
Oh, if I drink, well the money’s me own,
And if you don’t like it you can leave me alone.
I’ll tune me fiddle and I’ll rosin me bow,
And I’ll be welcome wherever I go.
Let the doctors come with all their art,
They’ll make no impression upon me heart.
Even the cripple forgets his crutch
When he snuggles side of a jug of punch.
And when I die and I’m in my grave,
No costly tombstone will I have.
Just lay me down in my native peat,
With a jug of punch at me head and feet.
37
2-16
The Burden of the Crown
(AKA Baldwin of Erebor) by Derek Foster
(Definitely a classic with a great period feel)
The battlefield is silent; the shadows growing
long.
Though I may view the sunset, I’ll not live to see
the dawn.
The trees have ceased to rustle; the birds no
longer sing
All nature seems to wonder at the passing of a
King.
And now you stand before me, your father’s
flesh and blood,
Begotten of my sinews on the woman that I
loved.
So difficult the birthing, thy mother died that
day.
And now you stand before me, to bear my crown
away.
The your is fast approaching when you come
into your own.
When you take the ring and scepter and sit upon
the throne.
Before that fatal hour, when we each must meet
our fate,
38
Pray, gaze upon the royal crown and marvel at its
weight.
This cap of burnished metal is the symbol of a land,
Supporting all we cherish, the dreams for which we
stand.
The weight you’ll find is nothing if you hold it in
you palm.
The burden of the crown begins the day you put it
on.
See how the jewels sparkle, as you gaze on it again.
Each facet is a subject whose rights you must
defend.
Every point of light a burden you must shoulder
with your won.
And mighty is the burden of the man upon the
throne.
The day is nearly ended, my limbs are growing
cold.
I feel the angels waiting to receive my passing soul.
Keep well for me my kingdom when my memory is
dead,
And forgive me for the burden I place upon your
head.
2-17
Ramblin’ Rover
(Silly wizard)
(a good Irish drinking song, the last verse is not always included)
Chorus:
There are sober men in plenty and drunkards barely twenty.
There be men of over ninety who have never yet kissed a girl
But give me the ramblin’ rover frae Orkney down tae Dover.
We will roam the country over, and together we’ll face the world.
I’ve roamed through all the nations,
Ta’en delight in all creation,
And have tried a wee sensation when the company did prove kind.
When parting was no pleasure, I’ve drunk another measure.
Tae the good friends that we treasure
For they always are in our mind.
Chorus
There’s many who fain enjoyment from merciless employment.
They’re ambition was this deployment
From the minute they left the school.
And they save and scrape and ponder,
While the rest go out and squander,
See the world and rove and wander, and they’re happier as a rule.
Chorus
If you bent up with ar-thur-ri-tis,
Your bowels have got collitis,
You’ve got gallopin’ ballochitis,
And you’re thinkin’ it’s time you died.
If you’ve been a man of action,
While you’re lyin’ there in traction.
You may gain some satisfaction
Thinkin’ “Jesus, at least I tried!”
Chorus
So when troubles do befall me,
To the high road I do call me.
Robbin’ Johnny’s what they call me,
‘Tis me blessing and me curse.
Though my friends they have been many,
I’ll take a drink with any,
‘Til I’ve spent my last wee penny
And they come for me in the hearse.
Chorus
Chorus
39
2-18
Chorus:
An Anthem for Ansteorra
Lady Gwyneth ferch Morien
In the heart of Ansteorra,
In her people, strong and bold,
Burns a love for land and kingdom,
Burns a fire, black and gold.
When the cry goes up through the land
Be the crisis large or small,
A steady heart and a ready hand
Stand in answer to kingdom’s call.
Chorus
The foe to take us has not been made,
Nor the storm we cannot weather.
Our armor’s proof against any blade
So long as we stand together.
Chorus
We take the children by the hand
To teach them, lead them, and be their guide.
When strangers come from foreign lands,
The find our gates stand open wide.
Chorus
40
2-19
Do You Remember?
(Period feel)
Do you remember what we promised when we met, my love?
There would never be a reason for regret, my love.
But news has come to town; that news flies up and down,
That another you have found to lie with you, my love.
If the wind could whisper by tat it is not true, my love.
And the seas could rise and cry that it’s not you, my love.
If the hill could only say that you were on your way,
Then happy I would stay and be with you, my love.
Every night I light a light for your return, my love.
But the morning light a lesson to be learned, my love.
That I who learned to trust have been betrayed at last.
And forever more be cursed for wanting you, my love.
Do you remember what we promised when we met, my love?
There would never be a reason for regret, my love.
That I who learned to trust have been betrayed at last.
And forever more be cursed for wanting you, my love.
41
2-20
Scots, Wha Hae
Melody “Hey Tuttie, Tattie”
Originally played at Battle of Bannockburn
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots whom Bruce has often led.
Welcome to your gory bed or to victory.
Refrain:
Now’s the day and now’s the hour,
See the front o’ battle lour
See approach proud Edward’s power
Chains and slavery.
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a cowards grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn, and flee.
Wha for Scotland’s King and Law,
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand of freeman fal’
Let him follow me!
By Oppression’s woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty’s in every blow!
Let us do, or dee!
42
2-21
Bonny Black Hare
(a bawdy with a period feel)
On the fourteenth of May at the dawn of the day
With a gun on me shoulder to the woods I did stray,
In search of some game if the weather proved fair
To see if I could et a shot at the bonny black hare.
Well I met a young girl with the face of a rose,
And her skin was a fair as the lily that grows.
I says, “Tell me there maiden, why ramble you so?
Can you tell me where the bonny black hare do hole?”
And the answer she gave me, her answer was “No,
But it’s under me apron and they say it be gold,
And if you’ll not deceive me, I’ll vow and declare,
We’ll both go together to hunt the bonny black hare.
Well I lay this girl down with her face to the sky,
And I pulled out me ramrod and me bullets likewise,
I says “Lock your legs round me and dig in with you heels,
For the closer we get love, the better it feels.”
Now the birds they were singing in the bushes and trees
And the song they were singing was she’s easy to please.
And I felt her heart quiver and I knew what I’d done,
Says I, “Have ye had enough of my sportin’ gun?”
And the answer she gave me, the answer was “Nay,
For ‘tis not often young sportsmen like you come my way.
So if your powder be willin’ and your bullets fly fair,
Why don’t ye keep on firin’ at the bonny black hare.”
Now me powder is wasted, me bullets are gone,
My ramrod is limber, I cannot fire on,
But I’ll be back in the mornin’ if you are still here,
We’ll both go together to hunt the bonny black hare.
43
2-22
Wild Mountain Thyme
(Period feel)
Oh, the summertime is come, and the trees are sweetly blooming.
Where the wild mountain thyme grows around the blooming heather,
Chorus:
Will you go lassie, go?
And we’ll all go together, to pick wild mountain thyme,
All around the blooming heather
Will you go lassie, go?
I will build my love a bower by yon pure crystal fountain
And around it I will pile all the flowers of the mountain.
Chorus
If my true love e’er should leave me, I would surely find another
Where the wild mountain thyme grows around the blooming heather
Chorus
Oh, the autumn-time is come, and the leaves are gently falling
Where the wild mountain thyme grows around the blooming heather
Chorus
2-23
44
Round: Sing With Thy Mouth
3-1
Circles
Words: Gwen Zak Moore & An Cass (v. 5 only)
Music: “Windmills: by Alan Bell
In the days gone by, when the world was much younger,
Men wondered at Spring, born of Winter’s cold knife.
Wondering at the games of the moon and the sunlight
They saw the Lady and Lord of all life.
Chorus:
Around, and around, and around turns the good earth;
All things much change as the seasons go by.
We are the children of the Lord and the Lady,
Whose mysteries we know, yet will never know why.
In all lands the people were tied to the good earth
Plowing and sowing, as the seasons declared.
Waiting to reap of the rich golden harvest,
Knowing her laugh in the joy that they shared.
Chorus
Through Flanders and Wales and the green lands of Ireland
In kingdoms of England and Scotland and Spain;
Circles grew up all along the wild coastlines;
And worked for the land, with the sun and the rain.
Chorus
Circles for healing and working the weather,
Circles for knowing the moon and the sun,
Circles for thanking the Lord and the Lady,
Circles for dancing the Dance never done.
Chorus
And we who reach for the stars in the heavens,
Turnings our eyes from the meadows and groves.
Still live in the love of the Lord and the Lady;
The greater the circle, the more the love grows.
Chorus
45
3-2
Lay the Bend to the Bonnie Broom (Period)
There lived a lady in the North Country
Lay the bend to the bonnie broom
And she had daughters, one, two, three
Sing Fa la la la la la la la lala
There came a knight of noble worth
And he came riding out of the north
The eldest sister let him in
The locked the door with a silver pin
The second sister made his bed
And put soft pillow under his head
The youngest sister, fair and bright
She went to bed with that young knight
If you can’t answer my questions three
In the morn you must come with me
Oh what is higher than the tree
46
And what is deeper than the sea
Oh heaven is higher than the tree
And hell is deeper than the sea
Oh what is louder than the horn
And what is sharper than a thorn
Oh thunder is louder than the horn
And the truth is sharper than a thorn
Oh what is greener tha the grass
And what is worse than a woman’s curse
Oh poison is greener than the grass
And the Devil is worse than a woman’s curse
And when she thus the fiend had named
He disappeared in a blazing flame
3-3
Men of Harlech
(period battle and feel)
(Though melody is supposedly period, words I believe are not)
(First set of English lyrics are listed as written by John Oxenford and the tune as the Welsh National
Melody)
Men of Harlech, in the hollow,
Do you hear like rushing billow,
Wave on wave that surging follow,
Battle’s distant sound
Tis the tramp of Saxon foemen,
Saxon spearmen, Saxon bowmen,
Be they knights, or hinds, or yeomen,
They shall bite the ground.
Loose the folds asunder,
Flag we conquer under.
Placid skies that hear our cries shall
launch their bolts in thunder.
Onward tis our country needs us.
He is bravest he who leads us.
Honor’s self now proudly heeds us.
Freedom, God, and Right!
Rocky steeps and passes narrow,
Flash with spear and flight of arrow.
Who would think of death or sorrow?
Death is glory now!
Hurl the reeling horsemen over!
Let the earth dead foemen cover.
Fate of friend, of wife, of lover,
Trembles on a blow.
Strands of life are riven.
Blow for blow is given.
Deadly locks or battle shocks when mercy
shrieks to heaven!
Men of Harlech, young or hoary,
See your banner famed in story.
Strike for home, for life, for glory!
Never will we yield!
Men of Harlech, honor calls us,
No proud Saxon e’er appalls us!
On we march, whate’er befalls us,
Never shall we fly!
Tho’ our mothers may be weeping,
Tho’ our sisters may be keeping,
Watch for some who now are sleeping,
On the battlefield!
Forward lightly bounding,
Hear the trumpet sounding!
Forward ever, backward never, this proud
foe a stounding!
Fight for father, sister, mother,
Each is bound to each as brother,
With this faith in one another,
We will win or die!
47
Men of Harlech (version 2)
(These words are used on the included recording)
‘Mid the fray, see dead and dying,
Friend and foe together lying;
All around the arrows flying
Scatter sudden death!
Frightened steeds are wildly neighing,
Brazen trumpets hoarsely braying,
Wounded men for mercy praying,
With their parting breath!
See – they are in disorder!
Comrades, keep close order!
Ever they shall rue the day
They ventured o-re the border!
Now the Saxon flees before us;
Victory’s banner floatheth o’er us!
Raise the loud, exalting chorus;
“Britain wins the field!”
Men of Harlech, in the hollow
Do ye hear like rushing billow
Wave on wave that surging follow
Battle’s distant sound?
‘Tis the tramp of Saxon foemen,
Rise you swords, a bitter omen,
Be they knights or hinds or yeomen,
They shall bite the ground.
Notes:
48
Loose the folds asunder,
Flag we conquer under,
The placid sky, now bright on high,
Shall launch its bolts of lightning in thunder.
Onward ‘tis our country needs us,
He is bravest, he who leads us!
Honor’s self now proudly heeds us,
Rocky steeps and passes narrow
Flash with spear and flight of arrow.
Who would think of death or sorrow,
Death is glory now!
Hurl the yelling horsemen over,
Let the earth dead foemen cover,
Fate of friend, of wife, of lover,
Trembles of a blow.
Strands of life are riven,
Blow for blow is given,
In deadly lock or battle shock,
And mercy shrieks to Heaven!
Men of Harlech, young or hoary,
Would you win a name in story?
Fight for home, for life, for glory,
Translated from the Welsh by Peter Stephens, Thomas Oliphaunt, and William Duthie (v. 1 &
2, 3 & 4, and 5 & 6 respectively)
3-4
Woad of Harlech
(author unknown)
Sung to the tune of “Men of Harlech” (filk)
What’s the use of wearing braces, hats, or spats, or
Hats, or spats, or shoes with laces,
Vests and pants you buy in places down on Brougmpton Road?
What’s the use of shirts of cotton,
Studs that always get forgotten,
These affairs are simply rotten – better far is woad!
Woad’s the stuff to show men.
Woad to scare your foemen.
Boil it to a brilliant blue and rub
it in your legs and your abdomen.
Ancient Britons never hit on
Anything as good a woad to fit on.
Nicks or knees or where you sit on – tailors, you’d be blowed!
Romans came across the Channel.
All dressed up in tin and flannel.
Half a pint of woad per man, oh
Clothed us more than these.
Romans keep your armors.
Saxons, you pajamas.
Hairy coats were made for goats, gorillas, yaks,
retriever dogs, and llamas.
Saxons, you may save your stitches
Building beds for bugs in britches.
We have woad to clothe us which is not a nest for fleas.
March on, Snowdon, with your woad on.
Never mind if you get rained or snowed on.
Never need a button sewed on – good for us today.
49
3-5
The Fair Maid by the Seashore
(Old Irish Ballad)
(One ballad book relates it to Child #43 “Broomfield Hill”.
There is also a slightly different version by Stan Rogers, “The Maid on the Shore”.)
There was a fair lady far crossed in love,
Far crossed in love as it were, O.
Nothing could she find to ease her fair mind,
Than to stray all along the sea shore, shore,
shore,
Than to stray all along the sea shore.
She sang him a song, it was at his request.
She sang it so sweet and so fair, O.
She sang it so sweet, so neat and complete.
That she sang the sea captain to sleep, sleep, sleep,
That she sang the sea captain to sleep.
There was a sea captain a-ploughing the deep,
A-ploughing the deep as it were, O.
Nothing could he find to ease her sad mind,
Than to sail all along the sea shore, shore, shore,
Than to sail all along the sea shore.
Then she robbed him of silver, she robbed him of
gold,
She robbed him of costly ware-O.
And the captain’s broadsword she used for an oar.
And she paddled her boat to the shore, shore, shore,
She paddled her boat to the shore.
I shall die, I shall die, the sea captain cried.
If I don’t get that lady so fair, O.
What will I not give to my jolly seamen,
If they’ll bring that fair damsel on board, on
board,
If they’ll bring that fair damsel on board.
O were my men sleeping or were my men mad?
Or were my men sunk in despair, O?
That the lady so gay should thus run away
When the captain had welcomed her there, there,
there,
When the captain had welcomed her there.
With many persuasions, they got her on board,
The captain he welcomed here there, O.
He welcomed her down to the cabin below,
Saying, “Fare thee well, sorrow and care, care,
care,
Fare thee well, sorrow and care.
No, your men were not sleeping, your men were not
mad,
Your men were not sunk in despair, O.
I deluded your crew and likewise you too,
And again I’m a maid on the shore, shore, shore,
And again I’m a maid on the shore.
50
3-6
Melismata, 1611
Source: Old English Popular Music by Chappell
The one of them said to his mate,
Where shall we our breakefast take?
Downe in yonder greene field,
There lies a knight slain under his shield.
His hounds they lie downe at his feete,
So well they their master keepe.
His haukes they flie so eagerly,
There’s no fowle dare him come nie.
Downe there comes a fallow doe,
Notes:
As great with yong as she might goe.
She lift up his bloudy hed,
And kist his wounds that were so red.
She got him up upon her backe,
And carried him to earthen lake.
She buried him before the prime,
She was dead herself ere even-song time.
God send every gentleman
Such haukes, such hounds, and such a leman.
Ritson, in his Ancient Songs, remarks: “It will be obvious that this ballad is much older, not
only than the date of that book, but than most of the other pieces contained in it.” it is
nevertheless still so popular in some parts of the country that I have been favoured with a
variety of copies of it, written down from memory; and all differing in some respects, both as
to words and tune, but with sufficient resemblance to prove a similar origin.
51
3-7
The Twa Corbies
(Period, Child Ballad #26)
As I was walkin’ all alone, I heard twa Corbies makin’ a mane.
The tane intae the tither did say, “Whaur sall we gang and
dine the day; whaur sall we gang and dine the day?
“It’s in ahint yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new slain knight.
And naebody kens that he lies there, but his hawk, hound, and lady fair.
O but his hawk, hound, and lady fair.”
“His hound it to the hunting gane, his hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady’s ta’en anither mate, so we may mak our dinner swate.
So we may mak our dinner swate.”
“Ye will sit on his white hause-bane, and I’ll pike oot his bonny bue e’en,
Wi’ ae lock o’ his golden hair, We’ll theek oor nest when it
grows bare. We’ll theek oor nest when it grows bare.”
There’s mony a ane for him maks mane, but nane sall ken whaur he is gane,
O’er his white banes when tey are bare, the wind sall blaw
for evermair. The wind sall blaw for evermair.
3-8
The Broom of the Cowdenknows (Child 217)
How blithe was I each morn to see
My love come o’er the hill.
She tripped the burn, and she run tae me,
I met her with good will.
Chorus:
Oh, the broom, the bonny, bonny
broom,
The broom of the Cowdenknows,
Fain would I be in my ain country
There with my ain true love.
I worried not for ewes or lambs,
While both our flocks near me lay.
I gathered in our sheep at night.
She cheered me all the day.
She tuned her harp, and strummed so sweet.
The birds stood listening by.
E’en the cattle stood and gazed,
Charmed by her melody.
While thus we spent our time by turns,
Betwixt our flocks and play,
Notes:
52
I envied not the fairest lad,
Though n’er so rich and gay.
She did oblige me every hour,
Could I but faithful be?
She stole my heart, could I refuse,
What e’er she asked of me?
Hard fate that I should banished be,
Gang heavily with mourn,
Because I loved the dearest lass,
That ever yet was born.
Adieu, ye Cowdenknows, adieu,
Farewell all pleasures there,
Ye gods restore me to my love,
Is all I want or care,
Oh the broom, the bonny, bonny broom,
The broom of the Cowdenknows,
Ye, gods, restore me to my country,
And to my ain true love.
Also noted as #217 of the Child Ballads. Possibly written by Mary, Queen of Scots Bothwell
though no documentation as yet to that effect. Another version uses “Fain would I be in my
own country, herdin’ my favorite ewes” in place of the last two lines of the chorus.
3-9
The Golden Vanity (Child #286)
There is a lofty ship and she sails the open sea
And the name of our ship is the Golden Vanity.
And we fear we will be taken by the Spanish enemy.
And sunk beneath the lowland, lowland, lowland,
Sunk beneath the lowland sea.
The up spoke our cabin boy, and boldly out spake he
Saying unto the captain, “What will ye give to me,
If I should swim alongside of the Spanish enemy
And sink her ‘neath the lowland, lowland, lowland,
Sink her ‘neath the lowland sea?”
“Oh I will give you silver and gold,” said he,
“And my own fair daughter your bonny bride shall be.
If you will swim alongside of the Spanish enemy,
And sink her ‘neath the lowland, lowland, lowland,
Sink her ‘neath the lowland sea”
So the cabin boy made ready and overboard sprang he,
And he swam to the side of the Spanish enemy,
And with his drilling tool in her side he bored holes three
And sank her ‘neath the lowland, lowland, lowland,
Sank her ‘neath the lowland sea.
Then the cabin boy swam back to the Golden Vanity,
And he called up to the Captain for to pull him from the sea.
But the Captain would not heed him for his daughter he did need,
And left him in the lowland, lowland, lowland,
Left him in the lowland sea.
So the cabin boy turned round and he swam to the port side
And he called up to his messmates and most bitterly he cried.
Saying “Messmates, pull me up, for I’m drifting with the tide,
And I’m sinking in the lowland, lowland, lowland,
I’m sinking in the lowland sea.
Well, we pulled him up on board, but upon the deck he died,
So we wrapped him in his hammock which was so very wide,
Then we cast him overboard, and he drifted with the tide,
And he sank beneath the lowland, lowland, lowland,
He sank beneath the lowland sea.
Oh, there is a lofty ship and she sails the open sea,
But she sails without a cabin boy whose age was 12 and 3.
And we fear we will be taken by the Spanish enemy,
And sunk beneath the lowland, lowland, lowland,
Sunk beneath the lowland sea.
Notes:
AKA “The Sweet Kumadee” and “The Sweet Trinity”. Sir Walter Raleigh’s ship. From a late
17th century broadside, but has a good campfire feel (A Child Ballad).
53
3-10
The Scotsman
(A fun song by Alex Beaton)
The Scotsman clad in kilt left the bar one evening fair,
And one could tell by how he how he walked he’d drunk more than his share.
He fumbled round until he could no longer keep his feet,
And he stumbled off beside the grass to keep beside the street.
Ring ding diddle iddle addey oh, ring ding diddley aye oh.
He stumbled off beside the grass to sleep beside the street.
Now, about that time two young and lovely girls just happened by,
And one said to the other with a twinkle in her eye.
“See yon sleeping Scotsman, so strong and handsome build,
Well I wonder if it’s true what they don’t wear beneath the kilt.”
Well I wonder if it’s true what they don’t wear beneath the kilt.”
They crept up on that sleeping Scotsman quiet as can be.
And they lifted up his kilt about an inch so they could see.
And there, behold, for them to view beneath his Scottish skirt.
Was nothing more than God had graced him with upon his birth.
Was nothing more than God had graced him with upon his birth.
They marveled for a moment, then one said, “We must be gone.
Let’s leave a present for our friend before we move along.
For a gift they left a blue silk ribbon tied into a bow
Around the bonny star the Scots kilt did lift and show.
Around the bonny star the Scots kilt did lift and show.
Well, the Scotsman woke to nature’s cause and he stumbled towards a tree.
And behind a bush, he lifts his kilt and gawks at what he sees.
And in a startled voice, he says to what’s before his eyes,
“Ach lad, I don’t know where you’ve been but I see you won first prize.”
“Ach lad, I don’t know where you’ve been but I see you won first prize.”
54
3-11
Will Ye Gang Love?
I wish, I wish, I wish in vain; I wish I were a maid again.
But a maid again I’ll never be, Till an apple grows on an orange tree.
I wish, I wish me babe was born, I whish it sat on’s daddy’s knee,
An’ I myself were deid an’ gone, An’ the wavin’ grass all o’er me growin’.
As lang as my apron did bide doon, He followed me frae toon tae toon,
But noo it’s up an’ above ma knee, My love gaes by but kens na me.
Mak’ my grave baith lang and deep, Put a bunch of roses at my head and feet,
And in the middle put a turtle dove, Let the people know I died of love.
55
3-12
Notes:
Round: Sumer Is Icumen In (Summer Is A-Coming In)
Details of this round’s history are given in Chapter 1. The original instructions say, “Four
companions can sing the rota. But it ought not to be rendered by fewer than three, or two at
the least, in addition to those who sing the bass.: the original six parts are noted, with
asterisks to indicate six more, bringing the possible total to twelve for the round plus two
more for the ground.
Ground (called a pes by John of Fornsete)
56
3-13
Note:
3-14
Round: Oken Leaves
A round for three voices
Source: An Anthology of Eng, Med, & Ren, Vocal Music
Ravenscroft’s Pammelia (1609), Deuteromelia (1609), and Mellismata (1611) exemplify the
rarely notated popular music of the sixteenth century. This music gives a picture of
Elizabethan life quite different from the elegant one reflected by sophisticated composers of
Tudor court and chapel. For these collections Ravenscroft arranged rounds and part-songs
with a great variety of texts: sacred, ribald, and nonsense songs, ballads, and street cries.
Many of the tunes and texts originate before Elizabeth’s reign but remain current, in
corrupted form, into the seventeenth century.
Green Grow the Rashes, O
One source lists this version by Robert Burns, though it is not one of his best-known pieces. Has a
nice campfire feel to it. Found in “Folk Songs by Master Composers”. Sung by Dugie MacLean on
“Real Estate” album.
There’s naught but care on ev’ry hand,
In every hour that passes, O,
What signifies the worth o’ man,
If it were not for the lasses, O?
But gie me a quiet hour at ev’en.
My arms around my dearie, O;
An’ worldly cares, and worldly men,
Can all go topsy-turvy, O.
Chorus:
For you sober fool, ye sneer at this,
Ye’re naught but senseless asses, O.
The wisest man the world ‘ere saw,
He dearly loved the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O.
Green grow the rashes, O.
The sweetest hours that e’er I spent
Were spent among the lasses, O.
The worldly race may riches chase,
And riches still may fly them, O,
An though at last they catch them fast,
Their harts can ne’er enjoy them, O.
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears,
Her noblest work she classes, O.
Her ‘prentice hand she tried on man,
An then she made the lasses, O.
57
3-15
Green Grow the Rashes O (Version 2)
I’ll sing you one-o,
Green grow the rushes-o! What is your one-o?
One is one and all alone and ever more shall be so.
I’ll sing you two-o,
Green grow the rushes-o! What is your two-o?
Two, two, the lily-white boys clothed all in green-o.
I’ll sing you three-o,
Green grow the rushes-o! What is your three-o?
Three, three, the Rivals.
I’ll sing you four-o,
Green grow the rushes-o! What is your four-o?
Four for the gospel makers.
I’ll sing you five-o,
Green grow the rushes-o! What is your five-o?
Five for the symbols at your door.
I’ll sing you six-o,
Green grow the rushes-o! What is your six-o?
Six for the six proud walkers.
Etc.
I’ll sing you twelve-o,
Green grow the rushes-o! What is your twelve-o?
Twelve for the twelve apostles.
Eleven for the eleven that went to heaven.
Ten for the ten commandments.
Nine for the nine bright shiners.
Eight for the eight bold raiders.
Seven for the seven stars in the sky.
Six for the six proud walkers.
58
3-16
Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation
Farewell to all our Scottish fame,
Farewell to ancient glory.
Farewell even to the Scottish name
So famed in martial story.
No sark runs over the Solway sands.
And the Tweed runs to the ocean.
To mark where England; province stands,
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.
What force or guile could not subdue.
Through many warlike ages.
Is wrought now by a coward few.
For hireling traitors wages.
The English steel we could disdain.
Secure in valor’s station.
But English gold has been our bane
Oh would or I had seen the day
That treason thus could fell us.
My old grey head had lain in clay
With Bruce and loyal Wallace.
But pith and power till my last hour
I’ll make this declaration.
We were bought and sold for English gold.
59
3-17
All Around My Hat
Arranged by Steve Lauerbach aka Malcolm the Wanderer
Album: First Harvest – St. Lauerbach
Traditional English Love Song.
Chorus:
All around my hat
I will wear the green willow.
All around my hat,
For a twelvemonth and a day.
And if anyone should ask me
The reason why I’m wearin’ it,
It’s all for my true love,
Who’s far, far away.
Fare thee well cold winter,
And fare thee well cold Frost.
Nothing I have gained
But my own true love have lost.
I’ll sing and I’ll be merry,
When occasion I do see.
He’s a false, deluded young man,
Let him go, farewell he.
Chorus
The other night he brought me
A fine golden ring,
Well, he thought to deprive me
Of a far finer thing!
3-18
But I, being careful,
As true lovers ought to be.
He’s a false, deluded young man;
Chorus
Here’s a half a pound of reason
And a quarter pound of sense
A small sprig of time,
And as much of prudence.
Now mix them all together,
And you will plainly see,
He’s a false, deluded young man
Carlow (Period)
Lift McAyare, og your face
A-broodin’ o’er the ill-disgrace
That Black FitzWilliam stormed your place
And drove you the fern
Grey said victory was sure
Soon the fire brand head secure
Until they met a Glem Malure
With Fich McHugh O’Burroon
They’re flashin’ o’er the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael
Beneath O’Burroon’s banners
Rooster of our fighting stock
Would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock
Fly up and teach him manners
Chorus
Chorus:
Curse and swear, Lord Kildare
Fich will do what Fich will dare
Now FitzWilliam have a care
Fallen is your star low
Up with halberd, out wi’ sword
On we’ll go for the Lord
Fich McHugh has given the word
Follow me up to Carlow
See the swords at Glen Amaugh
Chorus
60
From Tassagart to Clan More
There flows a stream of Saxon gore
Ach, great is Rory Ogamore
At sendin’ the loons to Hades
White is sick, Laine is fled
Not for Black FitzWilliam’s head
We’ll send it over drippin’ red
To Liza and her ladies
3-19
Faerie’s Love Song
Barrett & Smith
(Scottish traditional with some verses by B&S)
Chorus:
Why should I sit and sigh,
Pullin’ bracken, pullin’ bracken?
Why should I sit and sigh,
On a hillside weary?
When I see the plover risin’ or the curlew wheelin’
It’s then I’ll court my mortal lover
Back to me is stealin’.
When the moon begins her waning, I sit by the water,
Where the one in silver starlight
Loved the faerie’s daughter.
Ah, but there is something wanting. Ah, but I am weary.
Come, me blithe and bonny lover,
Come o’er the knoll to cheer me.
Who is that I see before me through the willow peering?
A smile as sweet as hawthorn blooming,
My love has come to cheer me.
3-20
Cambridge May Song (period topic)
Barrett & Smith
Arise, arise, ye pretty fair maid and take your
May bush in.
For if it is gone before tomorrow morn,
You will say we have brought you none.
A branch of May, we’ll bring to you
As at your door we stand.
Tis naught but a sprout, but ‘tis well-budded out.
The work of our Lady’s hand.
All through the night, before daylight,
There fell the dew and rain.
It sparkles bright on the May bush white,
It glistens on the plain.
Our song is done. It’s time we were gone.
We can no longer stay.
We bless you all, both great and small,
And we send you a joyful May.
Oh, the hedges and fields are growing as green,
So green as grass can be.
Our heavenly Mother watereth them.
With Her heavenly dew so sweet.
Note:
According to B&S, the ancient English custom of riding out on the first morning in May to
pluck flowering hawthorn or May boughs. They were used for decorating the doors of homes
for protection and to assure a plentiful summer.
61
3-21
Fire in the Glen
The old days are gone that had use for a man,
Who supported his lairdship, protecting his land.
Who in time of unrest would have died for his lord,
Now the soldiers of England have taken his broadsword.
Chorus:
And there’s fire in the glen, fire in the glen,
But no fire in the eyes of our Highland men.
And the Laird has a smile for the makers of graves,
For the builders of empires, for the keepers of slaves.
For he’s kept his fine home, losing nothing but his pride,
While his kinsmen lay huddled along the fireside.
So beware of their banners and general’s lies.
There’s no glory for the poor man, no glittering prize.
For we gave all we had, and our homes they’ve pulled down,
So I’ll cry out for Scotland and no allegiance to their crown.
Note:
62
Not a period song or event, but good period feel. Relates to the period in Scottish history
when the people were “removed” to make way for the more profitable sheep.
3-22
The Flowers of the Forest
A lament for the Scottish dead (including James IV) after their
defeat at the battle of Flodden, September 9, 1513.
Oh I’ve heard the liltin’ at the ewe milkin’
Lasses a liltin’ before dawn o’day.
Now there’s a moanin’ on Ilka Green loanin’.
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
At bughts in the mornin’, nae blithe lads are scornin’,
Lasses are lanely, an’ dowie, an’ wae.
Nae daffin’, nae gabbin’, but sighin’ an’ sabbin’.
Ilk ane lifts her leglin’, an’ hies her away.
In har’st at the shearin’, nae youths now are jeerin’,
Bandsters are runkles, an’ lyart, or grey.
At fair or at preachin’, nae wooin’, nae fleechin’.
Dool for the order sent our lads to the Border,
The English, for ance, by guile was the day.
The Flowers of the Forest that fought aye the foremost.
The prime o’ our land lie cauld I’ the clay.
We’ll hae nae mair liltin’ at the wew-milkin’.
Women an’ bairns are heartless an’ wae.
Sighin’ an’ moanin’ on Ilka Green loanin’.
63
3-23
Greensleeves (Period)
Greensleees was all my joy.
Greensleeves was my delight.
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but my Lady Greensleeves.
1.
Alas, my love, ye do me wrong to cast me off so discourteously!
And I have loved you so long, delighting in your company.
2.
I have been ready at your hand to grant whatever you would crave;
I have both wagered life and land your love and goodwill for to have.
3.
I bought three kerchers to thy head that were wrought fine and gallantly;
I kept thee both at board and bed, which cost my purse well favouredly.
4.
Thy girdle of gold so red with pearls bedecked sumptuously,
The like no other lasses had, and yet thou wouldst not love me.
5.
Thy purse eke thy gay gilt knives, thy pincase gallant to the eye,
No better wore the burgess wives, and yet thou wouldst not love me.
6.
Thy crimson stocking all of silk, with gold all wrought above the knee;
Thy pumps as white as the milk and yet thou wouldst not love me.
7.
Thy gown was of the grassy green, thy sleeves of satin hanging by,
Which made thee be our harvest queen and yet thou wouldst not love me.
8.
My gayest gelding I thee gave to ride wherever liked thee;
No lady ever was so brave, and yet thou wouldst not love me.
9.
All my men were clothed all in green and they did ever wait on thee;
All this was gallant to be seen and yet thou wouldst not love me.
10.
They set thee up, they took thee down, they served thee with humility;
Thy foot might not once touch the ground, and yet thou wouldst not love me.
11.
For every morning when thou arose, I sent thee dainties orderly,
To cheer thy stomach from all woes, and yet thou wouldst not love me.
12.
Thou couldst desire no earthly thing but still thou hadst it readily;
Thy music still to play and sing, and yet thou wouldst not love me.
13.
And who did pay for all this gear that thou didst spend when pleased thee:
Even I that am rejected here and thou disdain’st to love me.
14.
Well, I will pray to God on high that thou my constancy mayst see
And that yet once before I die thou wilt vouchsafe to love me.
Repeat first stanza.
64
3-24
I Know Where I’m Going
(Possibly period but no documentation as yet)
I know where I’m going, and I know who’s going with me.
I know who I love, but the dear knows who I’ll marry.
I’ll have stocking of the silk and shoes of fine green leather.
Combs to buckle in my hair, and a ring for every finger.
Feather beds are soft, painted rooms are bonny,
But I’d leave them all to go with my love Johnny.
Some say he is dark, I say he is bonny.
He’s the flower of them all, my handsome, coaxing Johnny.
I know where I’m going, and I know who’s going with me.
I know who I love, but the dear knows who I’ll marry.
65
3-25
The Lowlands of Holland (Child Ballad #92)
The love that I have chosen, I there with be content
And the salt sea shall be frozen before that I repent
Repent it shall I never, until the day I dee
For the Lowlands of Holland have twined my love and me.
My love lies in the salt sea and I upon the side
It’s enough to break a young thing’s heart that lately was a bride
That lately was a bonnie bride with pleasure in her lee
My love he built a bonnie ship and set her on the sea
With seven score good mariners to keep her company
But there’s three score of them is sunk and three score dead at sea
My love he built a nother ship and set her on the main
With nane by twenty mariners all told to bring her in
But weary wind began to rise, the sea began to moan
And my lover in his bonnie ship returned widdershins at bow
Then shal neither quill come on my head, nor comb come in my hair
And shall neither coal nor candlelight burn in my bower mair
And never shall I marry, until the day I dee
For I never had a love but one and he’s drowned in the sea
Now hold you tongue my daughter dear, be still and be content
There’s men enough t in Gallaway, you need not so lament
Oh there’s men enough in Gallaway, alas there’s none for me
For I never had a love but one and he’s drowned in the sea
66
3-26
Scarborough Fair (Period)
(One of many versions)
Are you going to Scarborough Fair
Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
She once was a true love of mine
Tell him to find me an acre of land
Between the salt water and the sea strand
Then he’ll be a true love of mine
Tell her to make me a cambric shirt
Without any seams or fine needle work
Then she’ll be a true love of mine
Tell him to plow it all with a lamb’s horn
And sow it all over with one peppercorn
Ask her to wash it in a dry well
Where never spring water nor rain ever fell
Tell him to reap it with a sickle of leather
And bind it all up with a peacock’s feather
Ask her to dry it on a flowering thorn
That never knew blossom sing Adam was born
And when he’s finished with all of his work
Then send to me for that cambric shirt
Now, he has asked me questions three
I hope he will answer as many for me
Are you going to Scarborough Fair
Remember me to one who lives there
For she once was a true love of mine
67
3-27
Temper of Revenge
Julia Ecklar
We were sworn to protect a timeless land,
Our steel pledged to greater goals.
Meant to serve what our Lords deemed as good,
Part of a greater whole.
We swore Lords a pledge with breath and tongue.
A pledge I now break with my heart.
Those beliefs impede what I’m called now to do.
My allegiance is sundered apart.
Y soul was torn from me this day,
Half of me lies interred in his grave.
That shattered life I can never retrieve,
No well-meaning wizard can save.
Chorus:
So find me a horse as red as the sun.
Find me a blade that will make their blood run.
I will ride out at dawn, while the sun’s in the sky,
So the buzzards can see where the bodies will lie.
Bring me my lance. Bring my shield.
Strong as my sword is the vengeance I wield.
To seek vengeance is wrong, say my masterful Lords,
But vengeance has tempered my sword.
Vengeance has tempered my sword.
Vengeance has tempered my sword.
My companion was made to be half of me.
We were sealed in both body and soul.
What is life to one human alone.
How can one unpartnered be whole?
He was slaughtered at night, not a warrior’s death,
All goodness seemed useless and vile.
For Good let my fragile world be destroyed.
My oaths by such lies were defiled.
Forgive me, my Lords, for what I do.
Know that this sinner is suffering too,
But your virtues pure don’t allow what I plan,
And by God, I’ll pay killers their due!
Chorus
68

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