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Read Ebook: A Book of Old Ballads — Volume 4 by Nichols Beverley Editor
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Ebook has 314 lines and 16772 words, and 7 pages
"Whan ye come to yon town-end, Ye'll lat your bent bow low fall doun.
"Ye'll seek meat for St Peter, ask for St Paul, And seek for the sake of your Hynde Horn all.
"But tak ye frae nane o them aw Till ye get frae the bonnie bride hersel O."
Whan he cam to yon high hill, He drew his bent bow nigh until.
And when he cam to yon toun-end, He loot his bent bow low fall doun.
He sought for St Peter, he askd for St Paul, And he sought for the sake of his Hynde Horn all.
But he took na frae ane o them aw Till he got frae the bonnie bride hersel O.
The bride cam tripping doun the stair, Wi the scales o red gowd on her hair.
Wi a glass o red wine in her hand, To gie to the puir beggar-man.
Out he drank his glass o wine, Into it he dropt the ring.
"Got ye't by sea, or got ye't by land, Or got ye't aff a drownd man's hand?"
"I got na't by sea, I got na't by land, Nor gat I it aff a drownd man's hand;
"But I got it at my wooing, And I'll gie it to your wedding."
"I'll tak the scales o gowd frae my head, I'll follow you, and beg my bread.
"I'll tak the scales o gowd frae my hair, I'll follow you for evermair."
She has tane the scales o gowd frae her head, She's followed him, to beg her bread.
She has tane the scales o gowd frae her hair, And she has followd him evermair.
Atween the kitchen and the ha, There he loot his cloutie cloak fa.
The red gowd shined oure them aw, And the bride frae the bridegroom was stown awa.
JOHN BROWN'S BODY
Old John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave, Because he fought for Freedom and the stricken Negro slave; Old John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave, But his soul is marching on.
Glory, glory, Hallelujah! Glory, glory, Hallelujah! Glory, glory, Hallelujah! His soul is marching on.
He was a noble martyr, was Old John Brown the true; His little patriot band into a noble army grew; He was a noble martyr, was Old John Brown the true, And his soul is marching on.
'Twas not till John Brown lost his life, arose in all its might, The army of the Union men that won the fearful fight; But tho' the glad event, oh! it never met his sight, Still his soul is marching on.
John Brown is now a soldier in that heavenly land above, Where live the happy spirits in their harmony and love, John Brown is now a soldier in that heavenly land above, And his soul is marching on.
TIPPERARY
Up to mighty London came an Irishman one day, As the streets are paved with gold, sure everyone was gay; Singing songs of Piccadilly, Strand and Leicester Square, Till Paddy got excited, then he shouted to them there:--
"It's a long way to Tipperary, It's a long way to go; It's a long way to Tipperary, To the sweetest girl I know! Good-bye Piccadilly, Farewell, Leicester Square, It's a long, long way to Tipperary, But my heart's right there!"
Paddy wrote a letter to his Irish Molly O', Saying, "Should you not receive it, write and let me know! "If I make mistakes in 'spelling,' Molly dear,' said he, "Remember it's the pen that's bad, don't lay the blame on me."
Molly wrote a neat reply to Irish Paddy O', Saying, "Mike Maloney wants to marry me, and so Leave the Strand and Piccadilly, or you'll be to blame, For love has fairly drove me silly--hoping you're the same!"
THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON
There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, And he was a squires son: He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, That lived in Islington.
Yet she was coye, and would not believe That he did love her soe, Noe nor at any time would she Any countenance to him showe.
But when his friendes did understand His fond and foolish minde, They sent him up to faire London An apprentice for to binde.
And when he had been seven long yeares, And never his love could see: Many a teare have I shed for her sake, When she little thought of mee.
Then all the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and playe, All but the bayliffes daughter deare; She secretly stole awaye.
She pulled off her gowne of greene, And put on ragged attire, And to faire London she would goe Her true love to enquire.
And as she went along the high road, The weather being hot and drye, She sat her downe upon a green bank, And her true love came riding bye.
She started up, with a colour soe redd, Catching hold of his bridle-reine; One penny, one penny, kind Sir, she sayd, Will ease me of much paine.
Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, Praye tell me where you were borne: At Islington, kind Sir, sayd shee, Where I have had many a scorne.
I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee, O tell me, whether you knowe The bayliffes daughter of Islington: She is dead, Sir, long agoe.
If she be dead, then take my horse, My saddle and bridle also; For I will into some far countrye, Where noe man shall me knowe.
O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe, She standeth by thy side; She is here alive, she is not dead, And readye to be thy bride.
O farewell griefe, and welcome joye, Ten thousand times therefore; For nowe I have founde mine owne true love, Whom I thought I should never see more.
THE THREE RAVENS
There were three rauens sat on a tree, Downe a downe, hay down, hay downe There were three rauens sat on a tree, With a downe There were three rauens sat on a tree, They were as blacke as they might be With a downe derrie, derrie, derrie, downe, downe
The one of them said to his mate, "Where shall we our breakefast take?"
"Downe in yonder greene field, There lies a knight slain vnder his shield.
"His hounds they lie downe at his feete, So well they can their master keepe.
"His haukes they flie so eagerly, There's no fowle dare him come nie."
Downe there comes a fallow doe, As great with yong as she might goe.
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