Chris Foster song lyrics
Lyrics for all the songs on
Hadelin 2017, Outsiders 2008, Jewels 2004 and Traces 1999,
including downloadable PDF files.
Scroll down the page for Jewels and Traces lyrics.
Hadelin song lyrics in album order
downloadable pdf
The seeds of love
I sowed the seeds of love
and I sowed them in the springtime.
I gathered them up in the morning so soon,
while the small birds sweetly sing, while the small birds sweetly sing.
My garden was planted well,
with flowers everywhere,
but I had not the liberty to choose for myself
of the flowers I loved so dear, of the flowers I loved so dear.
But the gardener was standing by
and I asked him to choose for me.
He chose me the violet, the lily and the pink,
but these I refused all three, but these I refused all three.
Oh the violet I did not like,
because it fades too soon.
The lily and the pink I did over-think,
and I vowed I would wait ’till June, I vowed I would wait ’till June.
Oh in June there is the red rosy bud
and that is the flower for me.
I pulled and I plucked at that red rosy bush
until I gained a willow tree, until I gained a willow tree.
Oh the willow it will twist
and the willow it will twine.
Oh I wish I was back in that young girl's arms
that once held this heart of mine, that once held this heart of mine.
So come all you false young maids,
who leave me here to complain,
the grass that is now trodden underfoot,
given time it’ll rise again, given time it’ll rise again.
© Traditional, arranged Chris Foster
The faithful plough
Come all you jolly ploughmen of courage stout and bold,
who labour all the winter, through the stormy winds and cold.
For to crown your fields with plenty and your farmyards to renew.
That bread may not be wanted, we must use the faithful plough.
Adam in the garden, he was sent to keep it right.
The length of time he stayed there, they say it was one night.
He was conquered by a woman and that you all do know
and so soon he lost the garden and he went to hold the plough,
So Adam was a ploughman when ploughing first begun
and the next that did succeed him was Cain his eldest son.
Some of this generation the calling now pursue,
for we are all dependent upon the faithful plough.
Samson was a strong man and Solomon was wise.
Alexander for to conquer he was all that we do prize.
King David was a valiant man and many a thousand slew,
but none of these brave heroes could live without the plough.
Says the ploughman to the gardener “Count not your trade as ours,
but walk your curious borders and gaze upon your flowers.
If it was not for the ploughman both rich and poor would rue,
for they are all dependent upon the faithful plough. ”
Behold the wealthy merchant who trades in foreign seas
to bring forth gold and treasure for those that lives at ease,
with finest silks and spices and fruits and dainties too,
they are all brought from the Indies by virtue of the plough.
I hope that those who hear this will count in what is true
that we cannot sail the oceanwide without the faithful plough.
For they must have beer and biscuits, plum puddings, flour and peas
for to feed the the jolly sailors who plough the raging seas.
Well I hope there’s none offended now with me for singing this,
for it never was intended to be anything amiss,
but if you consider it rightly you will find that it is true
that all the trades I’ve mentioned depend upon the plough.
So come all you jolly ploughmen of courage stout and bold,
who labour all the winter, through the stormy winds and cold,
for to crown your fields with plenty and your farmyards to renew.
That bread may not be wanted, we must use the faithful plough.
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
Once when I was young
When I was young, I would sit by the fire
and dream 'til my eyes burned like coals.
And my body flared as the flames grew higher,
and my bones glowed like embers, and I was afraid.
Chorus
And I dreamed of a world where I would be king,
where the sun and the moon would be calling my name,
dreamed of a song that I wanted to sing,
and a girl with a smile like a flame.
I went out into the streets and rejoiced that the wind was hard.
I took my place in the queue and waited and waited.
And when my turn came, they gave me my card,
and I answered the questions according to the rules.
They gave me a key and taught me the password.
They wrote my name on a plastic label.
and my uniform was made to measure.
I was five foot ten in my socks and my output was normal.
Chorus
I went through the door that slid shut behind me.
The walls were of granite, the windows of glass,
and the building rose ‘til it tore the sky.
A million people walked bear headed as mourners, deaf as brass.
I was allotted the fifty-third floor
where the carpets were thick and a woman was there.
She introduced herself saying she was my wife
Something I recognised, her smile, the curve of her hair
Chorus
Well the carpets drowned the sound of our footsteps.
Sometimes we heard voices and wondered if they were ours.
We collected the tears and put them in water,
And grew we them instead of flowers.
The walls were of glass, the windows of granite,
and the curtains were closed to keep out the sun.
In the corner was a concrete cage,
where the children played until their turn should come.
Chorus
A million mourners are walking and waiting,
waiting for death, my death, though they don’t know my name.
I am five foot ten in my socks and my output is normal,
and I’ve always kept to the rules of the game.
My eyes are of glass, my body granite,
and I’ve taken my place in the queue waiting to leave
Once, when I was young, I used to sit by the fire,
and dream, and dream and dream...
© Leon Rosselson.
arranged Chris Foster
The Gardener
Proud Maisrie stands in her father’s garden,
straight as any willow wand.
And by there came a gardener child,
with a red rose in his hand, his hand,
a red rose in his hand.
I will give my rose to you fair maiden,
if you’ll give your flower to me.
And among the flowers of your father's yard,
I will make a gown for thee, for thee.
I will make a gown for thee.
The lily white shall be your smock,
and lie your body next.
And the marigolds shall be your stays,
with a red rose at your breast, your breast,
a red rose at your breast.
And the scented thyme shall be your gown,
and your petticoat the camomile,
and your apron of the celandine,
so come kiss sweetheart and join, and join.
Come kiss sweetheart and join.
And your gloves shall be the clover flower,
and your shoes the purple columbine,
and I’ll line them with the cornflower blue,
so come join your love with mine, with mine.
Come join your love with mine.
Since you have made a gown for me,
all among the summer flowers.
Then it's I will make a suit for thee
all among the winter showers, the showers,
all among the winter showers.
The drifting snow shall be your shirt,
and lie your body next.
And the mirk-black night shall be your coat,
with a storm howling at your breast, your breast,
A storm howling at your breast
And the horse that you shall ride upon
shall be the lashing winter gale.
And I’ll bridle him with some northern blast,
and biting showers of hail, of hail,
and biting showers of hail.
And your gloves shall be the midnight frost,
and your boots the freezing winter rain.
And every time that you pass by,
I will wish you were well away, away.
I'll wish you were well away.
© traditonal arranged Chris Foster
Rosie Ann
Fair Rosie Ann sits at her father’s door
a weeping and making moan.
When by there came her own father dear
saying “What ails you Rosie Ann."
“Oh a deal and a deal, dear father" she said.
"Good reasons have I for to moan.
For there lies a baby between my two sides,
between me and my brother John."
Fair Rosie Ann sits at her father’s door
a weeping and making moan.
When by there came her own mother dear
saying “What ails you Rosie Ann."
“Oh a deal and a deal, dear mother" she said.
"Good reasons have I for to moan.
For there lies a baby between my two sides,
between me and my brother John."
Fair Rosie Ann sits at her father’s door
a weeping and making moan.
When by there came her own sister dear
saying “What ails you Rosie Ann."
“Oh a deal and a deal dear sister" she said.
"Good reasons have I for to moan.
For there lies a baby between my two sides,
between me and our brother John."
Well her brother John was sitting in the very next room
and he heard what she had for to say.
And then he’s gone straight to his sister Rosie Ann,
just before the dawning of the day.
He said “You have told our father and you have told our mother
and you have told our sister all three."
Then he’s taken out his sharp broad sword
and he’s cut her fair body in three.
“Oh what is that blood on the blade of your sword?
son John, come tell it unto me."
“Oh, that is the blood of my racing horse,
dear mother and fair lady."
“But your horse’s blood it was never so red,
son John, come tell it unto me."
“Oh, that is the blood of my greyhound,
dear mother and fair lady."
“But your greyhound’s blood it was never so clear,
son John, come tell it unto me."
“Oh, that is the blood of my sister Rosie Ann,
dear mother and fair lady."
“Well what will you do when your father comes to know?
son John, come tell it unto me."
“Oh, I will take his best riding horse
and I will go as far as I can see."
“And what will you do with your bonny young wife?
son John, come tell it unto me."
“Oh, I will set her foot onto yonder ship board
and I hope that she will follow me."
“And what will you do with your bonny young son?
son John, come tell it unto me."
“Oh, I will leave him here with you my mother dear,
to keep in rememberance of me."
“And what will you do with your houses and your land?
son John, come tell it unto me."
“Oh, I will sell them all and give you the money,
to keep my young baby."
“And when will you return to your own land again?
my son John, come tell it unto me."
“When the sun and the moon lie in yonder shady bower
and I know that will never, never be."
© traditional arranged Chris Foster
The Holland Handkerchief
A wealthy squire lived in our town.
He was a man of a high renown.
He had one daughter, a beauty bright,
And the name he called her was his heart's delight
Many young men to court her came.
But none of them could her favour gain.
Until one came of a low degree
and above all others she fancied he.
But when her father he came to know
that his lovely daughter loved this young man so.
Over fifty miles he sent her away,
all to deprive her of her wedding day
One night as she lay in her bedroom,
her young love came to her from out the gloom.
He touched her hand and to her he did say,
"Arise, my darling, and come away."
So it's with this young man she got on behind,
and they rode swifter than any wind.
They rode on for an hour or more,
until he says, "O my darling, my head feels sore."
So a holland handkerchief she then drew out
and with it wrapped his head about.
She kissed his lips and to him she did say,
"My dear, you are colder than any clay."
Now when they came to her father's gate,
he said, "Get down love, the hour is late.
Get down, get down, love and go to bed,
and I will see that this gallant horse is groomed and fed."
And when she rapped at her father's hall,
"Who's there? who's there?" her own father did call.
"It is I dear Father; didn't you send for me?
by such a messenger." Naming he.
"O no, dear Daughter, that can never be.
Your words are false and you lie to me.
For on yonder mountain your young man died
and in yon' green valley now his body lies."
Then the truth it dawned on this maiden brave,
and with her friends she exposed the grave,
where lay her young man, though nine months dead,
with a holland handkerchief tied around his head.
So it is woe to all parents, as I say still,
who rob young lovers of their own will.
For once their promises and vows they give,
they can never recall them back whilst they live.
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster and Bára Grímsdóttir
The trees they grow so high
The trees they grow so high and the leaves they do grow green.
The time is past and gone, my love, that you and I have seen.
It's a cold wind and a winter's night and I must lie alone.
My bonny boy was young, but he was growing.
"O father dear, O father, you do me cruel wrong.
You have married me to a boy and I think he is too young,
for he is only sixteen years, and I am twenty-one.
The boy he is too young, and still growing."
"O daughter dear, O daughter, I've done to you no wrong,
though I've married you to the bonny boy, he is not too young.
When I am dead and in my grave, he'll prove to you a man.
The boy he may be young, but he's growing."
"And I will send him off to college for another year or two.
Then perhaps in time my love, he will do for you.
I will buy a bunch of blue ribbons, to tie about his bonny waist,
to let the ladies know that he's married."
One day as she was walking down by the college wall,
she saw four and twenty young men playing at bat and ball.
She asked them for her true love, but they would not let him come to her.
They said he was too young and still growing.
So at the age of sixteen, he was a married man
and at the age of seventeen, she bore to him a son,
but at the age of eighteen years, the green grass it grew over him.
Sudden death had put an end to his growing.
She made for him a shroud of the hadelin so fine
and every stitch she put in it, her tears came trickling down,
crying once I had a bonny boy, but now I have got never a one,
so, fare you well my bonny boy for ever.
Oh and now my love is dead, and in the church yard laid.
The green grass it grows over him so very, very thick.
I will sit here and mourn his death, until the day I die
and I'll keep watch over his son while he's growing.
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
The trees they’re all bare
:/: The trees they’re all bare, not one green leaf to be seen
and the meadows their beauty have lost. :/:
As for the leaves, they are fallen from the trees,
and the streams they are all frozen,
the streams they are all frozen, frozen fast by the frost.
:/: The poor little birds, to the barn doors fly for food,
silent they nestle on the spray. :/:
The innocent hares, search the woods all for their food,
lest their footsteps should betray,
lest their footsteps should their where-a-bouts betray.
:/: The poor little pigeons sit shivering on the barn.
So coldly the north winds do blow. :/:
The innocent sheep run from the downs unto their fold,
with their fleeces all quite covered,
with their fleeces all quite cover-ed with snow.
:/: The poor old cow in the yard all foddered on straw,
sends forth her breath in clouds of steam. :/:
The sweet looking milkmaid goes trudging through the snow,
and flakes of ice she finds,
flakes of ice she finds, all in her pail of cream.
:/: Now Christmas is come and our song we have sung,
soon will come the springtime of the year. :/:
Come hand me the glass and I’ll drink healths all round
For we wish you all,
for we wish you all a bright and happy New Year.
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster and Bára Grímsdóttir
The life of a man
As I was a-walking one morning with ease,
viewing the leaves as they fell from the trees;
they were all in full motion, or appearing to be,
but those that were withered,
they fell from the tree.
chorus
But what is the life of a man, any more than a leaf?
A man have his seasons so why should he grieve.
We are out in this wide world so happy light and gay,
but like the leaves we shall wither and soon fade away.
You should have seen those leaves just a short time ago.
They were all in full motion and appearing to grow,
but then a frost came and bit them and withered them all.
A storm came upon them and down they did fall.
chorus
Down in yonder church yard many names you there will see,
of those that have fallen like a leaf from a tree.
Old age and affliction upon them did fall,
while death and disease it came and blighted them all.
chorus
But what is the life of a man, any more than a leaf?
A man have his seasons so why should he grieve.
We are out in this wide world so happy light and gay,
but like the leaves we must wither and soon fade away.
Yes we are out in this wide world so happy light and gay,
but like the leaves we must wither and soon fade away.
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
Who reaps the profits? Who pays the price?
You sit there handing down orders.
You examine the terms of the deal.
A car is always waiting,
other hands turn the wheel.
The doors slide open before you,
and the doors slide shut behind.
Other hands carry your luggage,
weightier matters engage your mind.
And you take the gold out of the earth,
and you throw the corpses in.
One crop is as good as another,
just as long as the cash keeps pouring in.
The wheel must never stop turning.
The machine must be obeyed.
The future has got to be fuelled,
and there’s a price to be paid.
Black like the dust,
brown like the earth,
this is our land,
the land of our birth.
Silently digging,
digging our graves,
choking our bodies,
choking our lives.
Living on scraps,
dying in debt,
digging in darkness,
so our children can eat.
Once we were free,
greeting the sun,
sharing the earth,
giving thanks to the corn.
Sang with the waters,
sang with the wind,
danced with the drum,
circle without end.
Now we are silent.
They've taken our tongues.
They've taken our pride.
They've taken our songs.
Only our bodies,
only our eyes,
burn with the memories,
of the old ways.
Brown like the earth,
black like the dust.
Who can we turn to?
Who can we trust?
And you’ve got no patience with failure.
You’ve got no time for delay.
Certainty points to the future.
Straight lines carve out the way.
And you never make moral judgements.
Only one truth you defend,
that money must be free to make money.
That’s all there is in the end.
And you take the diamonds out of the earth,
And you throw the corpses in.
One crop is as good as another,
Just as long as the cash keeps pouring in.
The wheel must never stop turning.
The machine must be obeyed.
The future has got to be fuelled,
and there’s a price to be paid.
Brown like the earth,
black like the dust.
Who can we turn to?
Who can we trust?
The gun is their god.
They have taken our land.
They take what we dig.
They take without end.
And we drown in the dust.
We choke in the heat.
Our skin grows sores.
Our lungs rot.
But still we remember
the cold clear air,
waking at dawn,
with morning star.
Still we remember
the sound of the flute,
the feel of the grass,
under our feet.
Death may come quickly,
if the mine floods,
if the rock talks,
if the gas explodes.
But mostly we linger
on death’s cold bed,
clutching for air,
coughing up blood.
Nobody cares.
Nobody sees.
We make no headlines.
Dying by degrees.
And a thousand shapes wait to attend you,
the ones who drive your cars,
who reserve your place at the table,
and who order your daily cigars.
Who silently guard your privacy,
who make sure that your ties are new,
who remind you of your appointments.
Oh you know they all depend on you.
And you take the uranium out of the earth,
and you throw the corpses in.
One crop is as good as another,
just as long as the cash keeps pouring in.
The wheel must never stop turning.
The machine must be obeyed.
The future has got to be fuelled,
and there’s a price to be paid.
Nobody cares.
Nobody sees.
We make no headlines.
Dying by degrees.
What choice do we have?
They have taken our home.
We wait in silence.
Our time will come.
They tear from the earth.
They leave nothing behind,
only raw scars
on a waste land.
But some day and soon,
the mountains will shake,
and the drum will sound,
and the sun will turn black.
And from out of the dust,
and from under the earth,
we will arise,
proclaiming this truth.
All life is sacred.
All life is one,
from the rocks on the mountains,
to the children unborn.
And the walls will topple.
And the fences will fall.
The scars will be healed.
And the earth will be whole.
This is our land,
the land of our birth.
Black like the dust,
brown like the earth.
And you never carry money.
You like your life ordered and clean.
And you make out cheques to charity.
No-one can call you mean.
Through your double locked gateways
only the privileged pass,
to admire your taste and elegance,
marvels of marble and silver and glass.
And you take the earth out of the earth,
and you throw the corpses in.
One crop is as good as another,
just as long as the cash keeps pouring in.
The wheel must never stop turning.
The machine must be obeyed.
The future has got to be fuelled,
but there’s a price to be paid.
© Leon Rosselson
arranged Chris Foster
Spring song
Waking from long winter's sleep,
I wonder what will summer bring,
and welcome now the growing days
as sap and spirits rise.
Sunshine warms the cold dark earth.
Something is stirring underground.
April is smiling in my mind,
as winter slips away.
Blackthorn's dressed in drifting white.
Bluebells scent the breath of spring.
Blackbirds whistle winter's end
and guide the migrants home.
Swifts are screaming on the wing,
as sunset's embers light the sky.
Setting blossoms promise fruit
and sow the seeds of hope.
Green shoots searching for the light.
New growth unfurling leaf by leaf.
Garlands herald dancing days,
so unite, rise up and sing.
Hail the hum of hedge and hive.
Hail the hope that new growth brings.
Hail life's wild diversity.
It's good to be alive.
© Chris Foster
Traces song lyrics in album order
downloadable pdf
The bold Princess Royal
On the 14th of February we sailed from the land,
on the bold Princess Royal, bound for Newfoundland.
With forty brave seamen in our ship’s company.
From the eastwards to the westwards and so sailed we.
And on the 18th of February so fair blew the sky.
When a man from our masthead a sail he did spy.
It come bearing down upon us just to see what we were
and under its mizzen peak black colours it wore.
Well “Good lord!” cries our captain “what shall we do now?
For here comes a bold pirate to rob us I know.”
“Oh no” cries our chief mate, “that never shall be so.
For we will shake out our reef my boys and from her we will go.”
Well in time this bold pirate, he hove alongside.
Through a loud speaking trumpet “Whence come you?” he cried.
Our captain being aft me boys he answered him so.
“We are come from fair London and are bound for Callyo.”
“Then back your main topsail and heave your ship to
because I’ve got some letters I want to send home with you.”
“Alright I’ll back my main topsail and I’ll heave my ship to.
But it‘ll be in some harbour, not alongside of you.”
Well they chased us to the windward. They chased us all that day.
They chased us to the windward but they could not make way.
And so they fired shots after us but none could prevail.
And the Bold Princess Royal soon showed them her tail.
Oh “Thank God!” cries our captain, “now the pirates are gone.
Go you down to your grog boys, go down everyone.
Go you down to your grog me boys and be of a good cheer.
For while we’ve got sea room brave boys never fear.
Go you down to your grog me boys and be of a good cheer.
For while we’ve got sea room brave boys never fear.”
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
Arthur McBride
Well I once knew a fellow named Arthur McBride
and his pleasure was walking down by the seaside.
Walking and talking and viewing the tide
and the weather was pleasant and charming.
So gay and so gallant we went on our tramp
‘til we met Sergeant Harper and Corporal Cramp
and the bonny little drummer boy who roused up the camp
with his rowdy dow dow in the morning.
“Good day me fine fellows” the sergeant he cried.
“And the same to you Sergeant” my mate he replied.
Then no more was said and we made to pass by
and continue our walk in the morning.
“I say my fine fellows if you would enlist,
ten guineas in gold I would slap in your fist
and a crown in the bargain to kick up the dust
and drink the king’s health in the morning.”
“Oh no my dear Sergeant we are not for sale.
Though we’re fond of our country your bribe’s no avail.
Though we’re fond of our country we are not for sale.
We are the boys of the morning.”
“And if we were such fools as to take your advance,
it’s right bloody slender would be our poor chance.
For the king wouldn’t scruple to send us to France
and get us all killed in the morning.”
“And you needn’t go bragging about your fine pay,
as you go a-drilling and marching away,
for all that you get is a shilling a day
and that isn’t much in the morning.”
“Well if you would insult me, without any word,
I swear by my king, I would draw my broadsword
and run through your bodies as strength me affords.
Then you would breathe out the morning.
We beat that little drummer boy as flat as a shoe
and we made a football of his rowdy dow do.
The corporal and sergeant we knocked out for two
Yes we were the boys in that morning.
And as for the weapons that hung by their side,
well we flung them as far as we could in the tide
and “The devil go with you” said Arthur McBride,
“for spoiling our walk in the morning.”
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
When a man’s in love
When a man’s in love he feels no cold, like me not long ago.
Like a hero bold, to see his girl, he’ll plough through frost and snow.
The moon she gently shed her light along my dreary way.
Until I came to that sweet spot where all my treasure lay.
I knocked at my love’s window saying “My dear are you within.”
And softly she undid the latch and slyly I slipped in.
Her hand was soft and her breath was sweet, her tongue did gently glide.
I stole a kiss, it was no miss and I asked her to be my bride.
“And take me to your chamber love. Take me to your bed.
Take me to your chamber love, to rest my weary head.”
“To take you to my chamber love, my parents they won’t agree,
but sit you down by yon bright fire and I will sit close by thee.”
“Many’s the time I’ve courted you against your father’s will,
but you never once said that you would be my bride, so now my dear sit still.
Tonight I am going to cross the sea to far Columbia’s shore
and you will never, never see your youthful lover more.”
“And many’s the dark and stormy night I came to visit you.
Whether tossed about by cold winter winds or wet by the morning dew.
Tonight our courtship is at an end, between my love and me.
So fare the well my favourite girl, a long farewell to thee.”
“And are you going to leave me now, pray what can I do?
I would break through every bond of love to go along with you.
Perhaps my parents won’t forget, but maybe they will forgive.
For from this hour I am resolved along with you to live.”
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
Jack Barleycorn
Jack Barleycorn was an Indian weed
and the farmer he lived close by.
He made a vow and a solemn vow,
Jack Barleycorn should die.
Aye poor boy, Jack Barleycorn should die.
They let him lay for a shower of rain.
A shower of rain did fall.
Jack Barleycorn jumped out of the ground
and he so surprised them all.
Aye poor boy, he so surprised them all.
And they let him lay ‘til the mid-summer,
to wrangle out tall and thin.
And then Jack Barleycorn grew a long beard
and he so became a man.
Aye poor boy, he so became a man.
They hired men with scythes all in,
to cut him at his ease.
And this they served Jack Barleycorn.
They cut him below his knees.
Aye poor boy, they cut him below his knees.
And they drove him up and down the field.
They thought it would do him no harm.
And then they took Jack Barleycorn
and put him into a barn.
Aye poor boy, they put him into a barn.
And they hired men with cudgels too
and they laid him upon a stone.
Swish swosh the cudgels flew
and the flesh flew from his bones.
Aye poor boy, the flesh flew from his bones.
And then they put him into a sack
and they tied it up with a string.
But the miller he served him worst of the lot,
for he ground him between two stones.
Aye poor boy, he ground him between two stones.
And then they put him into a kiln
and they thought about roasting him there.
But Jack Barleycorn jumped out of the tub
and he soon became strong beer.
Aye poor boy, he soon became strong beer.
You can put wine into a glass
and you can put cider into a can.
But old Jack Barleycorn in a brown jug
‘ll prove out the strongest one.
Aye poor boy, he’ll prove out the strongest one.
So let anybody be strong as they will.
As I’ve oft’ told you before,
if you take too much of Jack Barleycorn
he’ll put you onto the floor.
Aye poor boy, he’ll put you onto the floor
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
The Flower of Serving Men
My father built me a shady bower
and he covered it over with shamrock flowers.
The finest bower I ever did see,
my aged father he built for me.
My father married me to a noble knight
and my mother she owed to me a dreadful spite.
She sent nine robbers all in one night,
to rob my bower and to slay my knight.
How could she have done me a bigger harm
than to murder my babies all in my arms.
Left nothing at all for to wrap them in,
but the bloody sheets that my love died in.
All alone, all alone then I will wash them.
All alone, all alone I will bury them.
Cut off my hair and I’ll change my name
from fair Eleanor to sweet William.
I’ll saddle my horse and away I will ride,
until I come to where some king do reside.
To one of his servants give a gay gold ring
to carry a message to the king.
“Do you want any cook or groom
and do you want e’er a stableman.
Do you want a man servant in your hall,
to wait on nobles when they do call.”
“Well we don’t want any cook or groom
and we don’t want e’er a stableman.
But we wants a man servant in our hall,
to wait on nobles when they do call.“
Well it’s not long after it happened so,
that the young king and his nobles did a hunting go.
Left no one at all but a gay old man,
to keep company with sweet William.
When she thought she was all alone,
she took out her fiddle and she played a fine tune.
“Once my love was a rich and noble knight
and me myself was a lady bright.”
Well it’s not long after the king come home.
“What news, what news, Oh me gay old man”
“Good news, good news, Oh my lord” said he.
“Your serving man is a gay lady.”
“Well go and fetch me down then a pair of stays,
That I might lace up her slender waist.
Go fetch me down that gay gown of green,
that I might dress her up just like my queen.”
“Oh no, Oh no, Oh my lord” said she
“Pay me my wages and I will go free.
For I never heard tell of a stranger thing
as a serving man to become a queen.”
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
Barney’s Epic Homer
When Barney was at school they said he’d never make the grade.
He was living in a kipper coloured dream.
Barney ought to learn to concentrate his teachers used to say,
as he drifted in the bottom bottom stream.
Barney was waster, got no bits of paper.
Ended up attending a machine,
turning little piggies into plastic packaged sausages,
to sell in the heliport canteen.
Barney seemed to lack ambition, didn’t hear tomorrow call,
didn’t want the overtime for extra pay.
He just left his limbs to labour as he donned his uniform
and his mind was floating freely far away.
Press turn screw lift, early shift and late shift.
Always the same routine.
Turning little piggies into plastic packaged sausages,
to sell in the heliport canteen.
It was on one summer’s evening Barney crossed from work to home
with a tube of twisted metal that he’d found
and he stuck it in the garden like a broken totem pole
and he planted piles of pebbles all around.
“That boy’s no use, must have a screw loose,
Thinks his bit of metal’s gonna grow.”
Barney felt the silence in his head begin to melt
and in his heart a spark of laughter seemed to glow.
Barney’s game became a passion. All the free time that he had,
he was in the garden marking out a space.
Piecing things together with devotion in his hands
and a sweet seraphic smile on his face.
Mother says “You can’t, No!” Father says “You can’t, No!
Littering our little bit of lawn.
What are we going to do with him? Why can’t he be normal?
He’s been trouble since the day that he was born.”
And every day he brought home something. He was nicking things from work.
Picking up what other people threw away.
Cans and kettles, boots and bottles,
All the refuse of the earth he assembled in a giant junk display.
Copper wire, car tyres, plastic pots and broken mops,
Worn out wheels and one old water tank.
What a silly game to play, what a waste of effort .
He’d do better if he went and robbed a bank.
Now look at Barney’s weird contraption, high on iron girder legs,
reaching steel and tin can feelers to the sky.
As it wobbles in the breezes its belisha beacon heads
seem to nod and wink at all the passers by.
Every day he’d do a bit.
Every day it grew a bit, sprouting like a jungle in the rain.
And the neighbours watched in horror as his multi coloured monster
escaped from his loony bin brain.
But Barney’s work began to waiver. He was failing his machine.
The foreman said he wasn’t giving of his best.
And so the job enrichment expert analysed his working speed
and devised a scheme to give him added zest.
It was press turn screw lift, press turn screw lift, early shift and late shift.
Always the same routine,
but turning twice as many piggies into plastic packaged sausages
to sell in the heliport canteen.
And Barney’s folly neighed the neighbours was disfiguring the street,
and there was baying from the purity crusade.
And the careful ants informed him that the bye laws had been breached,
while the blow flies buzzed round every move he made.
Watch out Barney! Special Branch are after you.
Got you fully photographed and filed.
Officialdom is closing in. Oblivious of everything,
Barney builds as happy as a child.
Well it was on one winter’s morning, Barney worked the early shift,
when inspectors came with agents of the law.
They dismantled Barney’s monster. Dumped it on the council tip.
Left the garden neat and tidy as before.
Home comes Barney, can’t believe his eyes to see space
where his creation once held sway.
Shadows seem to fall on him, silence seems to swallow him.
Frightened Barney turns and runs away.
Now they say that Barney scavenges the scrap heaps of the town.
Doesn’t answer to his name and no one knows
why he wants to throw his life away just wandering around,
making crazy patterns everywhere he goes.
And still it’s press turn screw lift, early shift and late shift, always the same routine,
turning little piggies into plastic packaged sausages
to sell in the heliport canteen.
And it’s press turn screw lift, press turn screw lift, early shift and late shift,
other hands are working his machine
and turning twice as many piggies into plastic packaged sausages
to sell in the heliport canteen and no one knows,
why he wants to throw his life away, just wandering around,
making crazy patterns everywhere he goes.
© Leon Rosselson
arranged Chris Foster
The Coast of Peru
Come all you young fellows that’s bound after sperm.
Come all you bold seamen that has rounded the Horn.
Our Captain have told us and we hope he say true,
that there’s plenty of sperm whale on the coast of Peru.
Well we weathered the Horn and we are now off of Peru
and we’re all of one mind to endeavour to do.
Our boats they’re all ready and the masthead is all manned.
Our rigging rove light my boys and the signal’s all planned.
Well ‘twas early one morning, we heard the brave shout.
As the man in the lookout cries out “There she spout.”
“Where away” says our Captain “and where do she lay?”
“Two points to our lee bow, scarce a mile away.”
“Well it’s call up all hands my boys and be of a good cheer.
Put your tubs in your boats and have your bowlines all clear.
Sway up on them ropes. Now jump in my brave crew.
Lower away now and after her. Try the best you can do.”
Well the waist boat run down and of course got the start.
“Lay on” says the harpooner “for I am hell for the long dart.
Now bend on them oars boys and make your boat fly,
But one thing we dread of, keep clear of his eye.”
Well the first iron struck and the whale he went down,
but as he come up again our Captain he bent on.
And the next harpoon struck and the line sped away,
but one thing that whale done, he give us fair play.
Well he raced and he sounded and he twist and he spin,
but we fought him alongside and we got our lance in,
which caused him to vomit and the blood for to spout
and in ten minutes time my boys he’d rolled both fins out.
And then we hauled him alongside with many a shout
and we soon cut him and begun to try out.
Now the blubber is rendered and likewise stowed down
and it’s better to us my boys than five hundred pound.
And now we’re bound into Tumbez in our manly power.
Where a man buys a whore house for a barrel of flour.
And we will spend all our money on them Spanish girls ashore
and when it’s all gone my boys, we’ll go whaling for more…and more.
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
The Fowler
Come all you young fellows that follows the gun.
I would have you come home by the light of the sun.
For young Jimmy was a fowler who went fowling all alone
and he shot his own true love, by mistake, for a swan.
And then it’s home come young Jimmy with his dog and his gun.
Crying “Uncle dear Uncle do you know what I have done?
Oh cursed be that gun smith who has made me my gun,
for I’ve been and shot my true love. I mistook her for a swan.”
Then out come his uncle with his locks hanging grey.
Saying “Jimmy, dear Jimmy don’t you run away.
Don’t you leave your own country until your trial it comes on,
for you never will be hanged for the shooting of a swan.”
All the girls in this country they’re all pleased you know.
Just to see pretty Polly down a-lying so low.
You could stand them all on a mountain. You could put them all in a row
and her beauty would shine among them just like a fountain of snow.
Then the trial it come on and pretty Polly did appear,
saying “Uncle, dear Uncle let young Jimmy go clear.
With my apron thrown over me, he mistook me for swan
and he shot his own true love. It was Polly his own.
With my apron thrown over me, he mistook me for a swan
and he shot his own true love. It was Polly his own.”
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
The Ranter
It’s of a sly ranting parson, for preaching he lived in great fame.
In the town of Roper did dwell, though I dare not to mention his name.
Likewise a jolly young farmer, a neighbour living close by.
Soon on the wife of the farmer the Ranter he cast a quick eye.
While the farmer was minding his business and rose with the lark in the morning,
the Ranter was forming a plan to crown the young farmer with thorns.
And he oft to the farmers did go, to pray the good of his soul.
But when you have heard of the joke, I’ll warrant you’ll say it was droll.
The Ranter if you had but seen you would think he was free from all evil.
As pure as snow driven without, within was as black as the devil.
One day when the farmer was out he said “I will have my desire.”
And straight to the house he did go and he sat himself down by the fire.
He said “My good woman I’m told that your husband won’t be home tonight.
I value not silver or gold if I could but enjoy my delight.”
Then she replied with a smile ”My husband is gone for a week.”
And little the Ranter did think how she meant to play him a trick.
When all things were silent at night, she whispered these words in his ear.
“The best bed it stands in the parlour and you must go to it my dear.
When you are safe up to bed my dear, I will come with all speed.”
“All right” said the Ranter “make haste” and so was the bargain agreed.
The Ranter got into bed and he lay there as snug as you please.
And the lady went into the garden and fetched back a fine hive of bees.
She carried them into the parlour and put’em down slap on the floor.
So nimbly then she ran out and on him she locked the door.
And the bees began buzzing about and the Ranter he jumped on the floor.
So sweetly he capered and danced as they stung him behind and before.
And then he got out of the window, since no other way could he find.
His clothes he n’er stopped for to take, but was glad for to leave them behind.
All smarting and sore with the stings, he ran home to his wife in his shirt.
Such a figure of fun for to see, all besmeared with mud and with dirt.
And the farmer come home the next morning and after the truth had been told
in one of the Ranter’s side pockets found thirty bright guineas in gold.
And the Ranter got into disgrace and the farmer he laughed at the joke,
to think how the Ranter would look without trousers, waistcoat or cloak.
The Ranter he frets and he pines, all for the loss of his money.
The farmer though he lost his bees, thinks he is well paid for his honey.
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
The Flying Cloud
My name is William Hollander as you shall understand
I was born in the county of Waterford in Erin’s lovely land.
When I was sixteen years of age, a beauty upon me shone
and I was my parents pride and joy, I being their only son.
My father bound me to a trade in Waterford’s fair town.
He bound me to a butcher there by the name of Billy Brown.
And I wore the bloody apron for three long years or more,
until I shipped on board the Ocean Queen, belonging to Tremore.
When we arrived at Bermuda’s Isle I met with Captain Moore,
the commander of the Flying Cloud from out of Baltimore.
And he asked me if I’d sail with him on a slaving voyage to go,
to the balmy shores of Africa where the sugar cane do grow.
All went well ‘til we arrived off Africa’s burning shores.
Where five hundred of those poor slaves from their native homes we tore.
We chained them up together and we forced them down below,
where scarce eighteen inches to a man was all they had to show.
And then the plague and the fever came on board and took half of them away
We dragged their bodies up on deck and we flung them in the seas.
You know I thought it might have been better for the rest of them if they had died as well,
not to wear the chains nor to feel the lash in Cuba for ever more.
Well it is now our money is all gone and we must sail again.
Captain Moore come up on deck and he said unto us men
“There is gold and silver to be had if with me you’ll remain.
We will hoist the pirate flag aloft and go scour the Spanish Main.”
All agreed but three young men, so we put them on the shore.
Two of them were Boston boys and the third came from Baltimore.
Now I wish to God I’d joined those men, when they were set on shore,
but I chose a wild and a reckless life, serving under Captain Moore.
Well we robbed and we plundered many’s the ship down on the Spanish Main.
Causing many’s the widow and orphan in sorrow to remain.
But to the crews we showed no quarter. We gave them a watery grave.
For the saying of our Captain is that dead men tell no tails.
Pursued we were by many’s the ship, by frigate and liner too.
Until at length a man o’ war the Dungeness hove in view.
We fought ‘til Captain Moore was slain and twenty of our men.
But then a chain shot tore our main mast down and we were forced to surrender then.
So it is now in Newgate Gaol I lie, bound down in iron chains,
for robbing and a plundering ships down on the Spanish Main.
The judge he found us guilty. Now I am condemned to die.
Young men a warning by me take and lead not such a life as I.
So it’s fare thee well to Waterford and the girls that I adored.
I’ll never kiss your ruby lips nor squeeze your hands no more.
For it is drinking and bad company that have made a wretch of me.
Young men a warning by me take and shun all piracy.
Flying High, Flying Free
The red sun is sinking and the sky is on fire.
Swallows line up on the telegraph wire.
I think they’ve decided it’s time to be gone.
For the days are now shrinking. The summer’s moved on.
Chorus
Swallow, swallow I wish I could follow you,
over the deserts, the mountains, the seas.
South to the colours and sunshine of Africa.
Flying high, flying free.
Swallow I don’t understand how you know
how far you will fly to and which way you will go.
Resting at night time and flying by day,
with no map or compass to show you the way.
And I wish you could stay here the whole winter through,
just as the robins and chaffinches do.
But I know that you can’t for when frost grips the year,
the insects you feed on will all disappear.
Chorus
Butterfly, dragonfly, salmon and seal,
whale and reindeer, cuckoo and eel,
each of them doing the migration dance
and I’d do it too if they’d give me the chance.
Clock in the kitchen and clock in the hall,
clock on the mantle piece and clock on the wall,
tocking and ticking me off when I’m late,
but no clock to tell me it’s time to migrate.
Chorus
And I’ll miss your forked tails as you swoop through the air.
Your nests will be empty that you built with such care.
But I know you’ll return as you have done before
and your nests will be filled with your young ones once more.
So when winter departs with his mantle of snow
and the plum tree’s in blossom and the days start to grow.
When the summer sun rises and the sky is on fire.
I will see you again on that telegraph wire.
Chorus
© Leon Rosselson
arranged Chris Foster
Raggle Taggle Gypsies
Three gypsies stood at the castle gate.
They sang so high and they sang so low.
And the lady sits in her chamber late
and her heart it melted away as snow.
They sang so sweet and they sang so clear
that fast her tears began to flow.
And then she’s laid aside her silken gown
to go with the raggle taggle gypsies.
And then she’s took off her high heeled shoes,
made of Spanish leather
and around her shoulders a blanket she threw,
to go with the raggle taggle gypsies.
It was late that night when her lord come home
enquiring for his lady.
Then the servant girl gave this reply,
“Oh, she’s gone with the raggle taggle gypsies.”
“Then saddle to me my milk white steed.
Bridle me my pony,
that I may ride to seek my bride
who’s gone with the raggle taggle gypsies.”
Then he’s rode high and he’s rode low.
He rode through woods and copses,
until he came to the far green fields.
Oh and there he spied his lady.
“What makes you leave your houses and land?
What makes you leave your money?
What makes you leave your new wedded lord?
To go with the raggle taggle gypsies.”
“Oh what care I for houses and land ?
What care I for money?
What care I for my new wedded lord?
I’ll go with the raggle taggle gypsies.”
“Oh but last night you slept in a goose feather bed
with the sheets turned down so bravely.
Now tonight you will lie in the cold open fields,
all along with the raggle taggle gypsies.”
“But what care I for a goose feather bed
with the sheets turned down so bravely,
for tonight I will lie in the wide open fields
along with the raggle taggle gypsies.”
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
Outsiders song lyrics in album order
downloadable pdf
Lord Bateman
Lord Bateman was a noble youth
A noble youth of some high degree
He shipped himself on board a vessel
Some foreign country he would go see
He sailed east and he sailed west
until he came to proud Turkey
Where he was taken and put in prison
Until his life it grew quite weary
And in the middle of this prison
There grew a tree both stout and strong
Where he was chained all about his middle
Until his life it was nearly gone
The Turkish gaoler he had a daughter
The fairest creature you ever did see
She stole the keys to her father’s prison
And swore Lord Bateman she would set free
“Have you got silver, and have you got gold?
Have you got lands in your own country?
What would you give to a bold young woman
Who out of prison would set you free?”
“Yes I’ve got silver and I’ve got gold
And I’ve got lands in my own country
And I’d give them all to any woman
Who out of prison would set me free.”
She took him to her father’s cellar
And she gave to him a glass of wine
And every health that she drank to him
Was “I wish, Lord Bateman that you were mine.”
“For seven years we will make a promise
And for seven years we will keep it strong
That if you wed with no other woman
Then I’ll not marry with no other man.”
Then she took him to her father’s harbour
And gave to him a ship of fame
Saying “Fare thee well, farewell Lord Bateman
I fear I’ll never see your face again.”
Now seven years were passed and over
And forty days I tell to thee
When she packed up all her gay gold clothing
And to find Lord Bateman then she put to sea.
And when she came to Lord Bateman’s castle
So boldly then she rang the bell
“Who’s there, who’s there?” cried the proud young porter
“Who rings so boldly, come quickly tell?”
She said “Is this Lord Bateman’s castle?
And is his lordship now within?”
“O yes, this is Lord Bateman’s castle
And he’s just taken his new bride in.”
“Go and bid him send me a slice of cake
And a bottle of his best red wine
And bid him remember the bold young woman
Who did release him when he was confined.”
Away then went that proud young porter
And quickly to his lord went he
And when he came to Lord Bateman’s chamber
There he went down on his bended knee
“What news, what news, O my proud young porter?
What news, what news do you bring to me?”
“Well there is one of the fairest women
That ever my two eyes did see
And she’s got golden rings on every finger
And on her middle one she has got three
There’s enough gold lace all about her clothing
To buy your castle and your lands from thee.”
“And she bids you send her a slice of cake
And a bottle of your best red wine
She bids you remember the brave young woman
Who did release you when you were confined.”
Now when Lord Bateman he heard this news
He smashed his sword in splinters three
He said “I’ll give away all of my father’s riches
If my Sophia has crossed the sea.”
Then up and spoke the young bride’s mother
She had never been heard to speak so free
“You’ll not disgrace my only daughter
Although Sophia has crossed the sea.”
Then Lord Bateman said to the young bride’s mother
She'll be none the better nor the worse for me
She came to me on a horse and saddle
Now she’ll ride home in a coach and three.”
Then he prepared another wedding
And both their hearts were full of glee
He said “I’ll roam no more into foreign countries
Since my Sophia has come to me.”
© Traditional, arranged Chris Foster
Song of the olive tree
My father’s father’s father planted here
In this now broken earth an olive tree
And as a child I sang to it my secrets
And as I grew I felt it part of me.
It’s branches gave me shelter from the sun.
Its grey green leaves shaded my young dreams.
The fruit it bore was like a gift of hope.
Of all the olive trees I loved this one.
The settlers came. They beat us black and blue.
They said “Next time we shoot you. Understand?”
But still we dared to come. We had no choice.
We came at night like thieves to our own land.
Like ghosts we came, men women young and old
To pick the crop as we have always done
For centuries we harvested in peace.
The oil we pressed was sweet, precious as gold.
Now look. This is a cemetery for trees.
Their great machines crushed hope into despair.
They ripped the heart from every living tree
Except for one. My tree they chose to spare.
They dug it up. They smuggled it away.
This ancient tree – they saw it as a prize
For some Israeli rich enough to pay.
Five thousand dollars’ worth, that’s what they say.
Do you believe in ghosts? Last night I dreamed
My father’s father’s father came to me.
He took my hand and held it in his own
And said “Take heart. Here is my olive tree.”
And when I woke, it was a kind of birth
And in my hand I found an olive stone
And in the field where once my tree had been
A thousand shapes rose out of the earth.
I saw their faces, women, children, men
And each hand held a perfect olive stone
And each heart held a vision of to come
When all our olive trees will rise again.
© Leon Rosselson, arranged Chris Foster
The false bride
O the week before Easter
A day long and clear
How pretty shone the sun
And how cold blew the air
I went down in the forest
Some flowers to find there
But the forest wouldn’t yield me any posies
As I was returning
All late in the night
I met my false lover
Dressed all in milk white
And I lifted my hat
To bid her a goodnight
And adieu to my false love for ever
The next time I saw my love
It was to the church go
With brides-men and brides-maids
She cut a fine show
And I followed after
With my heart full of woe
To see her getting wed to another
The parson was standing
And this he did say
If anyone forbid it
I would have them draw nigh
And I thought to myself
I’d a good reason why
But I had not the heart to forbid her
The last time I saw my love
Was at her wedding feast
I sat down beside her
But nought could I eat
For I loved her sweet company
Far better than meat
Although she was tied to another
Come dig me a grave
That is long wide and deep
And strew it all over
With flowers so sweet
So that I might lie down there
And take a long sleep
Because that’s the best way to forget her
Yes I think that’s the best way to forget her
© Traditional, arranged Chris Foster & Bára Grímsdóttir
Cod banging / Oscar Woods' jig
Come, come my lads and listen here
A fisherman’s song you soon shall hear
What I did and undergo
When first I went a cod-banging O
Chorus
To my lal fol the day
Riddle all day
This is the smacksman’s life at sea
How well I remember the fourteenth of May
A big barque ship she came our way
She came our way and she did let fly
And the topsail halyards they flew sky high
And now we draw near Harwich pier
The young and the old folks they both draw near
To see us get our fish on deck
And crack their skulls with a little short stick
And now my song it is nearly done
And I hope that I’ve offended none
But I don’t think I’ve got it complete
‘Cos I’ve only been in the trade about a week
© Traditional, arranged Chris Foster
Deportee (plane wreck at Los Gatos)
Well the crops are all in and they need us no longer.
The oranges are stored in their creosote dumps.
They’re sending us back to the Mexican border.
It takes all our money to go back again.
So farewell to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria
You won’t have a name when you ride the big aeroplane.
All they will call you will be deportees.
My father’s own father did wade through the Rio.
You took all the money that he made in his life.
My sisters and brothers they worked in your fruit fields.
Rode on your trucks ’till they laid down and died.
Some of us are illegal and all are not wanted.
Our work contract’s out and we must move on.
The six hundred miles to the Mexican border.
You drive us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
Our sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos canyon.
Like a fire ball of lightening it fell from the sky.
Who are these friends lying there like dead leaves?
The radio say’s “They were just deportees.”
Well we died on your hills and we died in your valleys.
We died on your mountains and we died in your plains.
We still die ’neath your trees and we die ’neath your bushes.
Both sides of your borders, you know we still die just the same.
Woody Guthrie & Martin Hoffman
© TRO Essex Music Ltd
Bedlam
It was through Moorfields I rambled by myself all alone
I heard a maid in Bedlam making her sad moan
She was ringing of her tender hands and a-tearing of her hair
Crying O my cruel parents you have proved to me severe
It was all through my own true love your apprentice boy you know
You have forced him to the seas which has proved my overthrow
And this sad disconsolation which makes me to complain
Crying O shall I never see my own true love again
It was early the next morning this young sailor came on shore
He walked and he talked down alongside of Bedlam door
He overheard this fair young maid most grievously complain
I am afraid I shall never see the lad I love again
The sailor looked around him and he stood in a surprise
Then looking through a window he saw her lovely eyes
Then he gave to the porter a shining piece of gold
Saying “Show me to my wife for she’s the joy of my soul.”
Well when that the young man this young damsel he did see
He took her from her strawy bed and he set her on his knee
“O are you that young man that my father sent to sea
Or are you just come hither to make a fool of me?”
“O yes I am that young man that your parents sent to sea
And I have now come back again all for the love of thee”
“Well if it be so I can go free all my sorrows they are fled
I’ll bid adieu unto these chains and this cold and strawy bed”
© Traditional, arranged Chris Foster
Sir Aldingar
The birds sang clear as any bell
They never sang so well
The queen has gone to her chamber
To talk with Aldingar
“I love you well my queen my dame
More than lands and rents so clear
And for to spend one night with you
I would bear pain most severe.”
“Away, away you Aldingar
You are both stark and stoor
Would you defile the king’s own bed
And make his queen a whore?
Tomorrow you would be taken sure
And like a traitor slain
And I would be burned at the stake
Although I am the queen.”
Then there came a leper to the queen’s door
He was a leper blind and lame
Aldingar took him upon his back
And on the queen’s bed has him lain
He told the leper to lie still
And not to go away
And he would be a healthy man
By the dawning of the day.
Then he has gone out of the queen’s door
As quickly as he could go
And he’s gone straight to the very place
Where the king himself did go
The king said unto Aldingar
“What news have you for me?”
He said “Your queen is a false woman
As I did plainly see.”
Then the king has gone into the queen’s door
So costly and so fine
And he’s gone straight to her bed chamber
Where the leper man was lain
He looked down on the leper man
As he lay on his queen’s bed
Then he lifted up the snow white sheet
And unto him he said.
“Since she has lain into your arms
She shall not lie in mine
Since she has kissed your ugly mouth
She’ll never more kiss mine
If you were a man as you are not
It’s here that you would die
But a pair of gallows shall be built
To hang you on so high.”
Then in anger he went unto the queen
Who fell upon her knee
He said “You false and unchaste woman
What is this you’ve done to me?
If you had taken a comely knight
Well the lesser would have been your shame
But you have taken a leper man
Who is both blind and lame.”
Then the queen she turned herself around
A tear was blinding her eye
She said “There’s not a knight in all your court
Dare make such a claim to me.”
He said “’tis true what I do say
For I a proof did make
Now you shall be taken from my bower
And burned at the stake.”
She said “I thought that dreams were never true
But now I’ve proved them true at last.
I dreamed a dream the other night
In my bed where I lay
I dreamed a great and a gruesome beast
Had carried my crown away
My gorget and my belt of gold
And all my fair head gear.”
“How he would have worried me with his claws
And carried me into his nest
Saving there came a little hawk
Flying out of the west
Saving there came a little hawk
Which men call merlion
And with his claws he struck him down
And dead he did fall down.”
“Then the king said “I will give you forty days
To find you a man there in
But if you find not a man in forty days
In a hot fire you shall burn.”
So she called up all her messengers
And sent them to the west
But they couldn’t find none to fight for her
Nor enter in the contest.
Then a messenger the queen sent east
Who rode for many a day
And as he rode along by a riverside
There he met with a little boy
Who said “Turn again you messenger
Greet well our queen from me
And bid her remember what she has dreamt
In her bed where she lay.”
Then the day came on that was to do
That dreadful tragedy
But the little boy was not come up
To fight for our lady
So before the hour the queen was brought
The burning to proceed
And in a black velvet chair then she was set
It was a token for the dead
And she saw the flames ascending high
A tear blinded her eye
“Oh where is the worthy knight?” she said
“Who is to fight for me.”
Then up and spoke the king himself
“My dearest have no doubt
For yonder comes a little boy
As bold as he set out.”
Then the child advanced to fight the dual
And his sword was tempered steel
He struck the first stroke at Aldingar
And he cut his legs off at the knee.
“Stand up, stand up you false traitor
and fight upon your feet
Now I have taken your legs away
At an even height we shall meet
“Confess your treachery now” he said
“Confess it before you die.”
“Oh I do confess it” said Aldingar
“For I can no longer lie.”
“Now take your wife you king Henry
And love her with your all
For the queen she is as true to thee
As the stones on your castle wall.”
And the leper under the gallows tree
Was a healthy man and small
And the leper under the gallows tree
Was made steward in the king’s hall.
© Traditional, arranged Chris Foster
The man you don’t meet every day
I’ve a neat little cottage that’s built out of mud
Not far from the county of Kildare
I’ve got acres of land and I grow my own spuds
I’ve enough and a little to spare
Don’t think I’ve come over to look for a job
It’s only a visit to pay
Be easy and free when you’re drinking with me
I’m the man you don’t meet every day
Chorus
So fill up your glasses and drink what you please
Whatever’s the damage I’ll pay
Be easy and free when you’re drinking with me
I’m the man you don’t meet every day
When I landed in Liverpool a few days ago
I thought I would go to the star
And the first man I saw there was young Paddy White
With a glass of best ale at the bar
I spoke to him kindly, took him to one side
To him these words I did say
You can be easy and free when you’re drinking with me
I’m the man you don’t meet every day
When I landed in Liverpool O what a sight
Met my eyes as I walked on the shore
There was Paddy Bolin and Paddy McGhee,
Michael Laney and one or two more
They all burst out laughing to see me walk
They treated me in a fine way
I says “Look here you young scarecrows, don’t you think I’m a ghost
’cos I’m the man you don’t meet every day.”
There’s a neat little maiden that lives around here
And it’s her I’ve come over to see
We’re going to be married next Sunday and then
She’ll come back to old Ireland with me
And if you come over twelve months from today
This I would venture to say
We will have a smart lad, who will say to his Dad
“I’m the man you don’t meet every day.”
© Traditional, arranged Chris Foster
Brother can you spare a dime
They used to tell me I was building a dream
And so I followed the mob
When there was earth to plough or guns to bear
I was always there, right there on the job
They used to tell me I was building a dream
With peace and glory ahead
So why should I be standing in line
Just waiting for bread?
Once I built a railroad, made it run
Made it race against time
Once I built a railroad, now it’s done
Brother can you spare a dime?
Once I built a tower to the sun
Made of brick and rivet and lime
Once I built a tower, now it’s done
Brother can you spare a dime?
Once in khaki suits
Well didn’t we look swell
We were full of that yankey doodely dum
There was half a million boots went slogging through hell
And I was the guy with the drum
Say don’t you remember? You called me Al
O yes it was Al all the time
Say don’t you remember? I’m Al your pal
Brother can you spare a dime?
Edgar 'Yip' Harberg & Jay Gornay
© Chappel Music Ltd
The Cruel Mother
There was a lady, a lady in York
All alone and alone - ee - o
She fell a-courting her own father's clerk
Down by the greenwood side - ee - o
She loved him long and many a day
’Til big with child she had to run away
She’s gone into the wild wilderness
Great was her sadness and distress
She’s leaned her back against an oak
She’s pushed and she’s pushed ’till it very nearly broke
She’s laid her head against a thorn
Two bonniest babies ever were born
She’s got nothing to wrap them in
Nothing but her apron and that was very thin
She’s taken out her little penknife
And she’s parted them from their sweet lives
Then she has taken a length of twine
And together their bodies she did bind
Then she has dug a hole in the ground
And there she’s laid her bonnie babies down
She’s gone back to her father’s castle hall
She was the smallest maid among ’em all
She’s looked over her father’s castle wall
Saw two bonnie babies playing with a ball
One was dressed in the scarlet so fine
The other one was naked just as she was born
“Oh dear babies, if you were mine
I would give you bread and I would give you wine”
“Oh dear Mother, when we were thine
You never treated us so very kind”
“Oh dear babies if you were mine
I’d dress you up in the silk and satin fine”
“Oh dear Mother, when we were thine
Around our bodies you bound the twine”
“O bonnie babes can you tell to me
What sort of death for you I must die?”
“Yes cruel mother we will tell to thee
what sort of death for us you must die”
“Seven years you’ll be an eel writhing in the flood
And seven years a bird a whistling in the wood”
“Seven years you’ll be a fish finning through the tide
And seven years a snake on your belly you must slide”
“Now we are going to the heavens so high
But in the hell fires you will die.”
© Traditional, arranged Chris Foster
Trespassers Will Be Celebrated
Joan alone on Stanage
Finds the air to clear her head
Lift her spirits, calm her nerves and bring her peace
While the ramblers group is raring
To walk Bleaklow’s boggy wastes
Kitted out with compass, map and fleece
Hassan’s on his first trip with his classmates from his school
He’s never heard the eerie curlew cry
All owe their Sunday freedom to those who went before
The ones who tried to reach out for the sky
Chorus:
Trespassers will be celebrated
Now their will is done
Trespassers will be celebrated
Glorious kingdom come
By those who walk the southern downs
The high and windy moor
Trespassers will be celebrated
Freedom is won
Gill and Tony’s little family
Clamber madly over stones
Delight in rushing streams and frightened sheep
The baby’s in her backpack
Rocking gently through her dreams
And cooing with the beck from deep in sleep
Rose and Madge are wandering, their working life is done
Their time’s their own, they range for miles around
While blokes out on the Roches crawl like spiders up the rock
But know nought of those who won this hallowed ground
See campaigners through the ages
Walk together side by side
Watt Tyler, Benny Rothman hand in hand
Carpenter, Winstanley and the Diggers on the hill
The commoners who dared to seize the land
Stephen Morton, Barbara Castle,
Bert Ward and Terry Howard
The Greenham women cutting down the fence
Elsie Gaskell and the Buntings, young Woodcraft singers too,
Tom Stephenson, MacColl and Thomas Spence
Remember those who stuck at nothing
But kept slogging up the hill
For the right to spread their wings and take their space
Negotiators, demonstrators, all who spun the dream
That you and me might claim our rightful place
Trespassed for us and against those
Who kept beauty for themselves
Who fenced us out for profit and for greed
But now the way is open for us all to share this land
And the beauty and the glory’s ours indeed.
© Sally Goldsmith, arranged Chris Foster
Jewels song lyrics in album order
downloadable pdf
The banks of Newfoundland
O you western ocean labourers I would have you all beware
That when you’re aboard of a packet ship no dungaree jumpers wear
But have a big monkey jacket always at your command
And think of the cold nor'westers that blow on the Banks of Newfoundland
Chorus
So we'll rub her round and scrub her round with holy stone and sand
And say farewell to the virgin rocks on the Banks of Newfoundland
One night as I lay in my bunk a'dreaming all alone
I dreamt I was in Liverpool way up in Marylebone
With my true love there beside of me and a jug of ale in hand
When I woke broken hearted on the Banks of Newfoundland
Chorus
We had one Lynch from Ballinahinch, Jimmy Murphy and Mike Moore
And it was in the winter of sixty-two that them sea boys suffered sore
For they'd sold their clothes in Liverpool and pawned them out of hand
Not thinking of cold nor'westers that blow on the Banks of Newfoundland
Chorus
We had one female passenger Bridget Riley was her name
And to her I had promised marriage and on me she had a claim
And she tore up her flannel petticoats to make mittens for our hands
She couldn’t see us sea boys freeze on the Banks of Newfoundland
Chorus
O and now we are off Sandy Hook my boys and the land's all covered with snow
And the tug boat will take our hawser and for New York we will tow
And when we get into the Black Ball Dock the boys and girls will stand
And bid adieu to the virgin rocks on the Banks of Newfoundland
Chorus
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
The New York trader
To a New York trader I did belong
And she was built for sea both stout and strong
Well rigged and well manned and well fit for sea
She was bound for New York in Ameriky
Well our cruel captain as we did find
Left half of our provisions behind
Our cruel captain as we understand
Meant to starve us all before we made the land
At length our hunger grew very great
We had but little on board to eat
And we were in necessity
All by our captain's cruelty
Our captain in his cabin lay
And a voice come to him and it thus did say
"Prepare yourself and your company
For tomorrow night you shall lay with me"
Well our captain awoke in a terrible fright
It being the first watch of the night
And aloud for his bo's'n he then did call
And he to him related the secret all
"O Bo's'n" says he "it grieves my heart
To think I acted a villain's part
And to take what was not my lawful due
To starve the passengers and the whole ship's crew"
"Now there is one thing more I have to tell
When I in Waterford town did dwell
O I killed my master a merchant there
All for the sake of his lady fair"
"I killed my wife and my children three
All for that curséd jealousy
And on my servant I laid the blame
And hanged he was all for the same"
"O Captain" says he "if that be so
Pray let none of your ship's crew know
But keep your secret within your breast
And pray to God for to give you rest"
Well early next morning a storm did rise
Which did our seamen much surprise
The sea was o'er us both fore and aft
Until scarce a man on our deck was left
O and then our bo's'n he did declare
That our captain was a murderer
And this so enraged our whole ship's crew
That they overboard their captain threw
And when this was done a calm was there
Our good little ship homeward did steer
The wind abated and it calmed the seas
And we sailed safe to Ameriky
And when we came to anchor there
Our good little ship for to repair
O the people wondered much to see
What a poor and distressed shipwrecked crew were we
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
The grey cock
I must be going no longer staying
The burning Thames I have to cross
O I must guided without a stumble
Into the arms of my dear lass
Now when he came to his true love's window
He knelt down gently on a stone
And it is through the pane he has whispered softly
"My dear girl are you all alone?"
She rose her head from her down soft pillow
And snowy were her milk white breasts
Saying "Who's there who’s there at my bedroom window
Disturbing me from my long night's rest?"
"O I'm your love but I can't uncover
I pray you rise love and let me in
For I am fatigued by my long night's journey
And besides I am wet into the skin"
Then she quickly rose and she put on her clothing
And she swiftly let her own true love in
O they kissed held hands and embraced one another
Until that long night was near an end
"Then it's Willy dear O dearest Willy
Where is that colour you'd sometime ago?"
"O Mary love the clay has changed me
I am but the ghost of your Willy O"
"Then it's cock O cock O handsome cockerel
I pray you not crow until it is day
For your wings I will make of the fine beaten gold
And your comb I will make it of the silver grey"
But the cock it crew and it crew so fully
It crew three hours before it was day
And before it was day my love had to go away
Not by the light of the moon nor by the light of the day
"And then it's Willy dear O dearest Willy
Whenever shall I see you again?"
"When the fish they fly love and the sea runs dry love
And the rocks they melt in the heat of the sun"
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
The cobbler and the butcher
This is just a little story but the truth I'm going to tell
All about a cunning cobbler who in Yeovil town did dwell
(NB original version said Dover)
And a jolly butcher with a beautiful wife
But the cobbler he loved her as dearly as his life
Singing fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
One day the butcher went to market to buy himself an ox
But then the cunning cobbler as sly as any fox
He put on his Sunday coat and a courting he did go
To the jolly butcher's wife because he loved her so
Singing fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
Now when the little cobbler come into the butcher's shop
The butcher's wife knew what he meant and she bid him for to stop
"O" says he "me darling have you got a job for me?"
And the butcher's wife so saucy said "I'll go up stairs and see"
Singing fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
So the butcher's wife she went up stairs and gave the snob a call
"Yes I've got an easy job for you if you have brought your awl
And if you do it workmanlike some cash to you I'll pay"
"Well thank you" says the cobbler and he began to stitch away
With his fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
But as the cobbler was at work a knock come at the door
The cobbler scrambled under the bed and he hid upon the floor
"O" says he "me darling what will your husband say?"
But then she let the policeman in along with her to play
With his fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
The cobbler lay there trembling far too terrified to move
And the policeman says "My dear O my darling O my love"
The cobbler he was thinking well how he loves his wife
He feared the old bed would collapse and take away his life
And his fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
But then the butcher come from market in the middle of the night
The policeman he jumped out of bed and he soon got out of sight
The butcher's wife so nimbly she locked the bedroom door
But in her fright she quite forgot the cobbler on the floor
With his fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
And then the butcher got a surprise when he climbed into his bed
"Something here is very hard" the butcher smiled and said
She said "It is my rolling pin" which made the butcher laugh
"How long have you been rolling dough with a policeman's staff?"
Singing fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
And then the butcher threw the truncheon underneath the bed
And there it smashed the piddle pot and cracked the cobbler's head
The cobbler cried out "Murder!" said the butcher "Who are you?"
"O I am a little cobbler who goes mending ladies shoes"
With my fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
"Well if you are the little cobbler then come along with me
I will pay you for your mending before I set you free"
And then he locked him in the bull pen and the beast began to roar
And the butcher laughed to see him as he rolled him over and over again
With his fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
And then early in the morning just as people got about
The butcher smeared his face with blood and then he turned him out
He pinned a paper on his back and on it was the news
This cobbler to the bedroom goes to mend the ladies shoes
With his fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
And the people all were laughing just to see the cobbler run
His coat and britches were so torn and they could clearly see his bum
He run home to his wife but she locked and barred the door
And she said "That'll teach you not to go out mending anymore"
With your fol the riddle I doh, fol the riddle day
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
The herring's head
What'll we do with the old herring's head
We'll make it into loaves of bread
Herring's head loaves of bread
And all such things
Chorus
The herring is the king of the sea
The herring is the fish for me
The herring is the king of the sea
Sing wack faloodle day
And what'll we do with the old herring's eyes
We'll make 'em into puddings and pies
Herring's eyes puddings and pies
And all such things
Chorus
And what'll we do with the old herring's gills
We'll make 'em into physical pills
Herring's gills physical pills
And all such things
Chorus
And what'll we do with the old herring's scales
We'll make 'em into buckets and pails
Herring's scales buckets and pails
And all such things
Chorus
And what'll we do with the old herring's fins
We'll make 'em into needles and pins
Herring's fins needles and pins
And all such things
Chorus
And what'll we do with the old herring's belly
We'll make it into jams and jelly
Herring's belly jams and jelly
And all such things
Chorus
And what'll we do with the old herring's guts
We'll make 'em into comic cuts
Herring's guts comic cuts
And all such things
Chorus
And what'll we do with the old herring's back
We'll make it into a fishing smack
Herring's back a fishing smack
And all such things
Chorus
And what'll we do with the old herring's tail
We will make it into a ship with a sail
Herring's tail a ship with a sail
And all such things
Herring's tail a ship with a sail
Herring's back a fishing smack
Herring's guts comic cuts
Herring's belly jams and jelly
Herring's fins needles and pins
Herring's scales buckets and pails
Herring's gills physical pills
Herring's eyes puddings and pies
Herring's head loaves of bread
And all such things
Chorus
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
Georgie
As I crossed over London Bridge
It was on one morning early
There I beheld a fair woman
Lamenting for her Georgie
"Go fetch to me some little boy
That can go on an errand quickly
That can run ten miles in an hour
With a letter for a lady"
"And saddle to me my milk white steed
Bridle him so rarely
That I may go to Newcastle gaol
To plead for the life of Georgie"
And when she came to Newcastle gaol
She bowed her head so lowly
And down on her bended knees she fall
Saying "Spare me the life of Georgie"
"O it’s no murder George have done
Nor have he killed any
But he took twelve of the King’s fat deer
And sold them in the army"
The judge looked over his right shoulder
And seeming very sorry
He said "I'm afraid you have come too late
He is condemned already"
"Well six babies I have with me
And I love them so dearly
And I would part with them every one
If you will spare me the life of Georgie"
The judge looked over his left shoulder
And seeming very hard hearted
He said "I'm afraid you have come to late
Because there is no pardon granted"
"Well let George hang in a chain of gold
Which a few there are not many
Because he came from a noble life
And he was loved by a virtuous lady"
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
Rufford Park poachers
They say that forty gallant poachers
They was in a mess
They'd often been attackéd
When their number it was less
Chorus
O poacher bold as I unfold
Keep up your gallant heart
And think about those poachers bold
That night in Rufford Park
The keepers they began the fight
With stones and with their flails
But when those poachers started
Why they quickly turned their tails
Chorus
A buck or doe believe it so
A pheasant or a hare
Were put on earth for everyone
Quite equal for to share
Chorus
They say that forty gallant poachers
They was in a mess
They'd often been attackéd
When their number it was less
Chorus
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
The false hearted knight
It's of a false knight he came from the north land
And he came a courting me
He promised to take me down to that north land
And there his bride make me
"Go and fetch me some of your mother's gold
And some of your father's fees
And two of the best horses out of the stable
Where there stand by thirty and three"
Then she's mounted up on her milk white steed
And he on the daple and grey
And away they did ride to the great waterside
Hours before it was day
"Jump off jump off your milk white steed
And deliver it unto me
For six pretty fair maids I've drowndéd in here
And the seventh one you shall be"
"And take off take off that silken gown
And lie it upon yon' stone
For I think it’s too rich and I think it's too rare
To rot all in the salt sea"
"Well if I must take off my silken gown
Then turn your back upon me
For I don't think it's fit that a villain like you
A naked woman should see"
"And stoop you down and cut that briar
That hangs right over the brim
In case it should tangle my golden curls
Or tear my lily white skin"
And then she gave him a push and a hearty push
And she pushed that old false knight in
Cryin' "Lie in there you false hearted knight
Lie in there instead of me
If six pretty fair maids you have drowndéd in here
Well the seventh one has drowndéd thee"
Then she's mounted up on her milk white steed
And she lead the daple and grey
And away she did ride to her father's own house
Two hours before it was day
And the parrot was up in the window high
And he cried aloud and did say
"I'm afraid that some villain he came here last night
And he carried my lady away"
Well her father he was not quite sound asleep
But he never heard what that bird did say
So he cryeth "What waketh my pretty Polly
Two hours before it is day"
"O the old cat was up in the window high
And that cat he would me slay
So loud did I cry that help should be nigh
To drive that old cat away"
"Well done well done my pretty Polly
No tales you will tell upon me
Thy cage shall be made of the bright glittering gold
And the door of white ivory"
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
Gypsy countess
Well there came an earl a-riding by
And a gypsy maid then he did see
"O nut brown girl" to her he said
"I want you to come away with me"
"I’ll take you up carry you home
And I'll put a safeguard over you
Your shoes shall be made of the Spanish leather
Your silken stockings all of blue"
"All night you lie 'neath the starry skies
All day you walk in the rain and snow
Now you shall lie in a feather bed
Wrapped in the arms of a husband O"
"But I like to lie 'neath the starry skies
I do not mind the rain and snow
So I'll be away come night and come day
To follow away with the gypsies O"
"But I will wed you sweet maid he said
I will marry you with a golden ring
You shall dance and merry merry be
And we shall have such a fine wedding"
"But I'll not marry you kind sir she said
I'll not wed you with a golden ring
For I'm free as the wind and I swear I can find
The man that will make my wedding"
"But no more would you be put in the stocks
Or trudge about from town to town
You shall ride in pomp and pride
In a red embroidered velvet gown"
"But I'll pawn my hat pawn my coat
Sell my silken stockings blue
I'll pawn my petticoat then my shift
To follow away with the gypsies O"
"Because my brothers three no more I'd see
If I went along with you
I'd rather be torn by thistle and thorn
With my bare feet all in the dew"
"Well then I'll lock you up in a castle tall
Bar you up in a room so high
You gypsy maid from the green wood glade
So that never a gypsy shall you find"
Three gypsies stood at the castle gate
They sang so high and they sang so low
The lady sits in her chamber late
And her heart it melted away as snow
They sung so sweet they sung so shrill
That fast her tears began to flow
Then she's put down her velvet gown
Her golden rings and all her show
She's took off her high heeled shoes
Made of the Spanish leather O
To run away in the rain and snow
To follow away with the gypsies O
And it was past midnight when her lord come home
Where his lady was he would know
The servants replied on every side
"O she's gone away with the gypsies O"
"Saddle my horse bridle my mare
And hang my sword to my saddle bow
So I may ride to seek my bride
Who has gone away with the gypsies O"
So they saddled his horse bridled his mare
And they hung his sword to his saddle bow
So he could ride to seek his bride
Who was gone away with the gypsies O
He rode high he rode low
And he rode through hills and valleys O
He rode 'til he spied his own fair bride
Following along with the gypsies O
"What makes you leave your house and lands?
What makes you leave your money O?
What takes you abroad from your wedded lord
To follow away with the gypsies O?"
"I want none of your house and lands
I want none of your money O
I don't want to be wed to a lord she said
I'll follow away with the gypsies O"
"But last night you slept in a feather bed
Wrapped in the arms of a husband O
Now you shall sleep on the cold cold ground
And walk along in the rain and snow"
"But I don't want sleep in a feather bed
Held in the arms of a husband O
I'd rather sleep on the cold cold ground
And walk along in the rain and snow"
"No that will not be I swear" said he
As he drew his sword from his saddle bow
Three times he smote on her lily white throat
Then her red blood down did flow
Three gypsies stood at the castle gate
And they sang so high and they sang so low
The lady sits in her chamber late
And her heart it melted away as snow
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
Lady Maisry
O the young men of the North Country
Have all a wooing gone
To win the love of Lady Maisry
But of them she would have none
"O hold your tongues young men said she
And think no more on me
For I've given my love to an English lord
Who promised to marry me"
Then word has to her father gone
As he put on his shoe
That Lady Maisry goes with a child
Unto some English lord
Then in there come her bold father dear
Stepping on the floor
He says "they tell to me my daughter Maisry
That you are become a whore"
"O a whore father a whore father
That is what I'll never never be
Though I've given my love to an English lord
Who promised to marry me"
"But couldn't you have gotten a duke or a lord
From your own country
But now you have gone with this English lord
To bring this shame on me"
"Now where are all my merry young men
Whom I give meat and fee
To pull the thistle and the thorn
To burn her vile body"
Then her father's to the green wood gone
Her brother has to the broome
All for to kindle a bold bonfire
To burn her body in
Then in there come an old woman
Lady Maisry's nurse was she
But before she could speak one single word
A salt tear blinded her eye
"O your father has to the green wood gone
Your brother has to the broome
All for to kindle a bold bonfire
To burn your body in"
And her father he was the first man
Who tied her to a stake
And her brother he was the second man
Who did the fire make
And her mother was the first woman
Who did the fire fetch
And her sister she was the second woman
Who lighted it with a match
They blew the fire and they kindled the fire
'Til it reach her knee
"O mother mother quench the fire
For the smoke it'll smother me"
"O had I but a little footboy
My errand he could run
He would run unto gay London town
And bid my lord come home"
"O nurse go and fetch to me my little footboy
Who is called my sister's son
So that he may go and tell to my own true love
That I am sick at home"
Well the first two miles that little boy walked
The second two he run
And he run until he come unto some broad waterside
And then he's fell upon his breast and he swum
Until he come to some dry land again
Then he took to his heels and he run
And he run until he come to some high park gate
Where lords were sitting at their meat
"O if you did but know what news I have brought
Not a bite more would you eat"
"O is my park gates overthrown
Or is my walls falling down"
"O your high park gates they are all overthrown
Your high park walls they are all a falling down
And your Lady Maisry lies sick at home
And shall die before you can come"
"O mother go and fetch to me my milk white steed
And saddle it with speed
So that I may go and kiss her cherry cheeks
Before they are turned to clay"
"Now where are all my merry young men
By one by two and three"
Then he's mounted up on his milk white steed
To go to his Lady Maisry
They blew the fire and they kindled the fire
'Til it did reach her head
"O mother mother quench the fire
For I am nearly dead"
Then she's turned her head on her right shoulder
She saw her lord come riding home
"O mother mother quench the fire
For I am nearly gone"
Then he's mounted off of his milk white steed
And he's leapt into the fire
He was thinking to save his Lady Maisry
But he had stayed too long
And the Lady she was buried in a cold church yard
The lord was buried in the choir
And out of her heart there sprung a sweet rose
And out of his mouth a sweet briar
And they growed so high unto the church wall
Until they could not grow any higher
And there they did twang in a true lover's knot
For all true lovers to admire
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
Australia
Come all you good people where so ever you may be
Come listen a while to my story
Now when I was a young man and my age seventeen
I ought to been serving Victoria our queen
But those hard hearted judges O how cruel they have been
To send us poor lads to Australia
I fell in with a damsel she was handsome and gay
I neglected my work more and more every day
And to keep her like a lady I went on the highway
And for that I was sent to Australia
Now the judges they stand with the whips in their hands
And they drive us like horses to plough up the land
You should see us poor young fellows working in that gaol yard
How hard is our fate in Australia
Australia Australia I would never see no more
Worn out by fever cast down to death's door
But should I live to see say seven years more
O I would then bid adieu to Australia
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster
The golden glove
O it's of a young squire near Tamworth we hear
He courted a nobleman's daughter so fair
And he promised for to marry her and it was his intent
All friends and relations they gave their consent
The time was appointed for the wedding day
A young farmer was chosen to give the bride away
But as soon as the lady the young farmer did espy
It overthrew her heart "O my heart!" she did cry
And then she turned from the squire and nothing she said
Instead of getting married she took to her bed
The thoughts of the farmer so ran in her mind
That a way for to have him she quickly did find
Coat waistcoat and trousers she then did put on
And off she went a'hunting with her dog and gun
She hunted all around where the farmer he did dwell
Because in her heart she lovéd him so well
Well she often times fired but nothing could she kill
'Til at length the young farmer come into the field
To converse with him it was her intent
So with her dog and gun to meet him then she went
"O I thought you would be at the wedding" she cried
"To wait on the squire and give to him his bride"
"O no sir I'd rather take a sword all in my hand
By my honour I would gain her if ever she command"
Well the lady was pleased for to find him so bold
And gave to him a glove that was floweréd with gold
She told him she had found it as she came along
As she was a'hunting with her dog and gun
And then the lady went home with her heart full of love
And she gave out a notice that she had lost her glove
"And the man that shall find it and bring it unto me
No matter who he is my husband he shall be"
Well the farmer was pleased when he heard of the news
And straight to the lady with her glove he goes
Saying "Dear and honoured lady it was I picked up your glove
I hope that you are pleased and will give to me your love"
"O it's already granted" the lady replied
"It's already granted and I will be your bride
I'll be mistress of the dairy and go milking my cow
While the jolly farmer is whistling at the plough"
Now when they were married she told him of the fun
Of how she went a'hunting with her dog and gun
And now she's got him so fast in her snare
She'll love him forever I vow and declare
© Traditional arranged Chris Foster