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8 Folk Song Arrangements for High Voice The bird’s in the nest, and Harp The trout’s in the burn, Thou hinders thy mother Publisher: Faber Music Ltd. In many a turn.

[1] Lord! I married me a wife Canny at night, bonny at morn... Words and melody from English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians, collected by Cecil Sharp, 1859–1924, edited by Maud We’re all laid idle Karpeles, 1885–1976 Wi’ keeping the bairn, The lad winnot work Lord! I married me a wife! And the lass winnot lairn. She gave me trouble all my life! Made me work! in the cold rain and snow. Canny at night, bonny at morn...

[2] She’s like the swallow [5] Bugeilio’r Gwenith Gwyn Words and melody from Folksongs from Newfoundland, collected by Published in 1844 in Ancient National Airs of Gwent and Maud Karpeles Morgannwg. English words by Osian Ellis, b. 1928. Reprinted with permission. She’s like the swallow that flies so high, She’s like the river that never runs dry, Mi sy’n fachgen ifanc ffol̂ She’s like the sunshine on the lee shore, Yn caru’n ol̂ ffansi; I love my love and love is no more. Myfi’n bugeilio’r gwenith gwyn, Ac arall yn ei fedi. ’Twas out in the garden this fair maid did go, Pam na ddeui ar fy ôl A-picking the beautiful primerose, Rhyw ddydd ar ol̂ ei gilydd? The more she pluck’d the more she pulled Gwaith ‘rwy’n dy weld, y feinir fach Until she got her aperon full. Yn lanach, lanach beunydd.

It’s out of those roses she made a bed, Tra bo dwr y mor̂ yn hallt A stony pillow for her head. A thra bo ‘ngwallt yn tyfu, She laid her down, no word did say, A thra bo calon yn fy mron, Until this fair maid’s heart did break. Mi fyddai’n ffyddlon iti. Dywed imi’r gwir heb gel,̂ She’s like the swallow that flies so high.... A rho dan sel̂ d’ateboin: P’run ai myfi, ai arall, Gwen, [3] Lemady Sydd orau gen dy gallon? Words and melody from Folk song journal, Volume V. © J. Curwen & Sons Ltd. Bugeilio’r Gwenith Gwyn Reprinted with permission I was lonely and forlorn Among the meadows mourning; One midsummer’s morn as I were a-walking For I had wooed her oft and long, The fields and the meadows were covered with green, Yet others reaped her loving. The birds a-sweetly singing so pleasant and so charming, Not to me this maid did come So early in the morning by the break of the day. To cure my painful yearning. Yet I had watched, the fields among, Arise, arise, go pluck your love a posy Her beauty and her blooming. Of the prettiest flowers that grows in yonder green. O yes I’ll arise and pluck lilies, pinks and roses While the seas do ebb and flow All for my dearest Lemady, the girl I adore. And the minutes do not falter And while my heart beats in my breast, O Lemady, O Lemady what a lovely lass thou art My ’fliction ne’er will alter. Thou the fairest creature that ever my eyes did see! Ne’er shall I kiss her cheeks so fair, I’ll play you a tune all on the pipes of ivory Nor feel her arms embracing: So early in the morning by the break of the day. For I had watched the ripening wheat, Yet others reaped her loving. [4] Bonny at Morn Words and Melody from North Country Folk Songs by William Gillies [6] Dafydd y Garreg Wen Whittaker Melody by David Owen, 1709–1739. Published in Musical and © J. Curwen & Sons Ltd. Poetical Relicks of the Welsh Bards, 1784. Welsh words by John Words reproduced with permission Ceiriog Hughes, 1832–1887, second verse added by Osian Ellis.

English words by Thomas Oliphant (translated from a Welsh lyric by The sheep’s in the meadows, Talhaiarn). The kye’s in the corn, Published in Hullah’s The Song Book, Macmillan 1866. Reprinted Thou’s ower lang in thy bed, with permission. Bonny at morn. ‘Cariwch,’ medd Dayfdd, ‘Fy nhelyn i mi, Canny at night, bonny at morn, Ceisiaf cyn marw roi ton̂ arni hi. Thou’s ower lang in thy bed, Codwch fy nwylo I gyrraedd y tant; Bonny at morn. Duw a’ch bendithio, fy ngweddw a’m plant.’

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‘Llifai’r alawon o’r tannau yn lli, ‘Yes, and a good boat under me,’ Melys oedd ceinciau fy nhelyn i mi, said the child as he stood. Nid oes a erys o’r afiaith a’r tan;̂ He stood and he stood and tis well Gwywodd yr awen, a thawodd y gan.’̂ because he stood. ‘Yes, and a good boat under me,’ ‘Neithiwr mi glywais lais angel fel hyn: said the child as he stood. ‘Dafydd, tyrd adref, a chwarae trwy’r glyn.’ Delyn fy mebyd! ffarwel i dy dant. ‘I think I hear a bell,’ Duw a’ch bendithio, fy ngweddw a’m plant.’ said the knight in the road. ‘Yes, and it’s ringing you to hell,’ Dafydd y Garreg Wen said the child as he stood. Life and its follies are fading away, He stood and he stood and tis well Love hath departed, why then should I stay! because he stood. Cold is my pale cheek, and furrowed with care ‘Yes, and it’s ringing you to hell,’ Dim is my eyesight, and snow-white my hair. said the child as he stood.

Near me, in silence my harp lies unstrung, [8] Bird Scarer’s Song Weak are my fingers, and falt’ring my tongue! Words and melody from Folk Song Journal, Volume II, No. 6 Tuneful companion, we parted must be; (January 1905). Noted by Cecil Sharp. Original title: Bird Starver’s Thou canst no longer bring comfort to me. Cry.

Yet ere we serve, thy master would fain Shoo all ‘er birds you be so black, Swan-like expire in a last dying strain; When I lay down to have a nap. And when above him the cypress bough wave Shoo arlo birds. Spirits shall murmur over his grave. Hi shoo all ‘er birds!

[7] The False Knight upon the Road Out of master’s ground into Tom Tucker’s ground, Words and melody from English Folk Songs from the Southern Out of Tom Tucker’s ground into Appalachians, collected by Cecil Sharp, edited by Maud Karpeles Luke Cole’s ground Out of Luke Coles’s ground into The knight met the child in the road. Bill Veater’s ground. ‘O where are you going to?’ Shoo arlo birds. said the knight in the road. ‘I am going to my school,’ [9] The holly and the ivy said the child as he stood. Publisher: Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd. He stood and he stood and tis well because he stood. The holly and the ivy ‘I am going to my school,’ Are trees that’s both well known; said the child as he stood. Of all the trees that grows in the woods, The holly bears the crown. ‘O what are you going there for?’ said the knight in the road. The rising of the sun, ‘For to learn the Word of God,’ The running of the deer, said the child as he stood. The playing of the merry harp, He stood and he stood and tis well Sweet singing in the choir. because he stood. For to learn the Word of God,’ The holly bears a blossom, said the child as he stood. As white as any flower; And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ ‘O what have you got there?’ To be our sweet Saviour. said the knight in the road. ‘I have got my bread and cheese,’ The rising of the sun... said the child as he stood. He stood and he stood and tis well The holly bears a colour because he stood. As green as any tree; ‘I have got my bread and cheese,’ And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ said the child as he stood. To set poor sinners free.

‘O won’t you give me some?’ The rising of the sun... said the knight in the road. ‘No, ne’er a bite nor crumb,’ The holly bears a berry said the child as he stood. As red as any blood, He stood and he stood and tis well And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ because he stood. To do poor sinners good. ‘No, ne’er a bite nor crumb,’ said the child as he stood. The rising of the sun...

‘I wish you was on the sands,’ The holly bears a prickle said the knight in the road. As sharp as any thorn; ‘Yes, and a good staff in my hands,’ And Mary bore a sweet Jesus Christ said the child as he stood. At Christmas day in the morn. He stood and he stood and tis well because he stood. The rising of the sun... ‘Yes, and a good staff in my hands,’ said the child as he stood. The holly bears a bark As bitter as any gall, ‘I wish you was in the sea,’ And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ said the knight in the road. For to redeem us all.

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Eight the eight arch-angels, The rising of the sun... Seven...

The holly and the ivy I’ll sing you nine, oh! Are trees that’s both well known; Pray, what’s your nine, oh? Of all the trees that grows in the woods, Nine the nine bright shiners, The holly bears the crown. Eight....

The rising of the sun... I’ll sing you ten, oh! Pray, what’s your ten, oh? [10] King Herod and the Cock Ten, the ten commandments, Publisher: Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd. Nine... Melody and words collected by Cecil Sharp. I’ll sing you elev’n, oh! There was a star in David’s land, Pray, what’s your elev’n oh? In David’s land appeared, Elev’n the elev’n went up to heav’n And in King Herod’s chamber Ten... So bright it did shine there. I’ll sing you twelve, oh! The wise men soon espied it Pray, what’s your twelve, oh? And told the king on high Twelve the twelve apostles, That a princely babe was born that night Elev’n... No king shall e’er destroy. [12] The Bitter Withy ‘If this be the truth’ King Herod said, Traditional ‘That thou hast told to me, Music Publisher: Boosey and Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd. Edited Then the roasted cock that stands in the dish by Colin Matthews. Shall crow full senses three.’ Honour the leaves, the leaves of life O the cock soon thrusten’d and feather’d well Upon this blest holiday. By the work of God’s own hand, And he did crow full senses three As it fell out on a Holy day In the dish where he did stand. The stars from heaven did fall, Sweet Jesus asked of His mother dear [11] The Twelve Apostles If He could play at ball. Music Publisher: Faber Music Limited. Text: adapted from The Ten Commandments printed in English Folk Honour the leaves, the leaves of life Songs from the Southern Appalachians. The tune is from The Upon this blest holiday. Journal of the Folk Song Society. To play at ball, my own dear Son, I’ll sing you one, oh! It’s time You were going or gone, Pray, what’s your one, oh? But be sure let me hear no complaint of You, One is one and all alone and ever more shall be so. At night when You come home. One is one and all alone, ever more shall be so. Honour the leaves, the leaves of life I’ll sing you two, oh! Upon this blest holiday. Pray, what’s you two, oh? Two, two the lily white boys clothed Then down the street sweet Jesus went all in green, oh, As far as the Holy well One is one... And then He saw as fine a chilereen As ever eyes beheld. I’ll sing you three, oh! Pray, what’s your three, oh? Honour the leaves, the leaves of life Three, three the riders, Upon this blest holiday. Two, two... ‘Well met, well met, you three jolly dons, I’ll sing you four, oh! Well met, well met’, said He, Pray what’s your four, oh? And it’s which, of you three jolly dons Four the gospel preachers, Will play at the ball with me?’ Three, three... Honour the leaves, the leaves of life I’ll sing you five, oh! Upon this blest holiday. Pray what’s your five, oh? Five the symbols at your door, ‘O nay, that must not be, Four... For we are lords’ and ladies’ sons, And Thou art but a poor maiden’s child, I’ll sing you six, oh! Born in an oxen stall.’ Pray, what’s your six, oh? Six are the small belaters, Honour the leaves, the leaves of life. Five... Sweet Jesus turned Himself round about, I’ll sing you seven, oh! He did neither laugh nor smile, Pray, what’s your seven oh? But the tears were trickling from His eyes Seven the seven stars in the sky, Like water from the skies. Six... Honour the leaves upon this blest holiday. I’ll sing you eight, oh! Pray, what’s your eight, oh?

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‘If I am but a poor maiden’s child Asleep beneath a tree, Born in an oxen stall, Sweet maiden Marie. I will let you know at the very later end That I am above you all.’ ‘And wilt thou be my queen-a, And live in state with me, Our Saviour built a bridge with the beams of the sun, My adorable maiden. And over it went He, And live in state with me, And after followed the three jolly jerduns Sweet maiden Marie.’ And drowned they were all three. ‘Oh thou shalt have a carriage Honour the leaves, the leaves of life. And gold in quantity, My adorable maiden. Then it’s upling call and downling call And gold in quantity, Their mothers they did whoop and call. Sweet maiden Marie.’

Orchestral Arrangements ‘At court I’ve stately ladies, Two barons one grandee, [13] Le roi s’en va-t’en chasse My adorable maiden. Traditional Two barons one grandee, Sweet maiden Marie.’ Le roi s’en va-t’en chasse, Dans le bois des Bourbons ‘I thank you, Sir, most kindly, Mon aimable bergere.̀ I love a lad,’ said she, Dans le bois des Bourbons My adorable maiden. bergère Nanon. ‘I love a lad,’ said she, ‘And he loves Marie!’ Ne trouve rien en chasse, Ni cailles, ni pigeons, [14] Fileuse Mon aimable bergere.̀ Traditional Ni cailles, ni pigeons, bergère Nanon. Lorsque j’étais jeunette, je gardais les moutons, Rencontre une bergère Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou Qui dormait dans les joncs, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule Mon aimable bergere.̀ Qui dormait dans les joncs, N’étais jamais seulette bergère Nanon. a ̀ songer par les monts, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou ‘Voulez vous etrê reine, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule Dedans mes beaux donjons, Mon aimable bergere.̀ Mais d’autres bergerettes avec moi devisaient Dedans mes beaux donjons, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou bergère Nanon. Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule

‘Vous aurez des carrosses Parfois de sa musette un berger Et de l’or à foison, nous charmait. Mon aimable bergere.̀ Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou Et de l’or à foison, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule bergère Nanon. Il nous faisait des rondes, joli’ rondes d’amour ‘Et cour de grandes dames, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou De ducs et de barons, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule Mon aimable bergere.̀ De ducs et de barons, Mais me voilà vieille, bergère Nanon. reste seule toujours. Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou ‘Merci, merci, beau Sire, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule Mais j’aime un pauv’ garcon, Qui aime sa bergerè Fileuse Mais j’aime un pauv’ garcon, When I was young and pretty, Qui aime Nanon! I watched over my flock, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou, The King is gone a-hunting Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule. The King is gone a-hunting Beneath the greenwood tree, I never wandered lonely My adorable maiden. o’er the mountains and rocks, Beneath the greenwood tree, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou, Sweet maiden Marie. Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule.

He’s caught no bird a-hunting, But we did gossip blithely, maidens silly and gay. No pigeon catcheth he, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou, My adorable maiden. Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule. No pigeon catcheth he, Sweet maiden Marie. With songs a shepherd laddie stole our young hearts away. But he’s found a shepherd maiden Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou, Asleep beneath a tree, Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule. My adorable maiden.

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He’d pipe a jolly ditty and of love sing a song. Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou, [16] La belle est au jardin d’amour Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule. Traditional

But now I’m old and ugly, La belle est au jardin d’amour and I’ve lain alone too long. La belle est au jardin d’amour Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, Tiroulou, Il y’a un mois ou cinq semaines. Tirouli, Tiroula, Tirouli, rouli, roule. Laridondon, laridondaine.

[15] Eho! Eho! Son père la cherche partout, Traditional Son père la cherche partout, Son amoureux qui est en peine. Eho! Eho! Eho! Laridondon, laridondaine. Les agneaux vont aux plaines. Eho! Eho! Eho! ‘Berger, berger, n’as tu point vu, Et les loups vont aux bois. Berger, berger, n’as tu point vu, Passer ici celle que j’aime?’ Tant qu’aux bords des fontaines Laridondon, laridondaine. Ou dans les frais ruisseaux, ‘Elle est là bas dans ce vallon, Les blancs moutons s’y baignent, Elle est là bas dans ce vallon, Y dansant au préau. A un oiseau conte ses peines.’ Laridondon, laridondaine. Eho! Eho! Eho! ... Le bel oiseau s’est envolé, Mais queuqu’fois par vingtaine Le bel oiseau s’est envolé, Y s’éloign’ des troupeaux, Et le chagrin bien loin emmène. Pour aller sous les chenes,̂ Laridondon, laridondaine. Aux herbages nouveaux. Beauty in love’s garden Eho! Eho! Eho! ... Beauty in love’s garden is bound, Beauty in love’s garden is bound. Et les ombres lointaines, Full thirty nights and many a morning. Leurz’y cach’ leurs bourreaux, Hey derry down, hey down a-downing. Malgré leurs plaintes vaines, Les loups mang’ les agneaux. Father is searching all around, Father is searching all around. Eho! Eho! Eho! ... And Colin weepeth for his darling. Hey derry down, hey down a-downing. T’es mon agneau, ma reine Les grand’ vill’ c’est le bois, ‘Shepherd say where can she be found, Par ainsi Madeleine, Shepherd say where can she be found. T’en vas pas loin de moi! Hast thou not seen my dear a-passing?’ Hey derry down hey down a-downing. Eho! Eho! Eho! ... ‘She’s by the fountain down below, She’s by the fountain down below. Eho! Eho! And to her dove she is complaining.’ Eho! Eho! Eho! Hey derry down, hey down a-downing. Keep your lambs in the valley. Eho! Eho! Eho! The pretty bird hath ta’en her woe, For the wolf’ s in the wood. The pretty bird hath ta’en her woe, And with its far away he’s flying. The white lambs they do dally, Hey derry down, hey down a-downing. By the fountain and spring, As they bathe and skip gladly, [17] Quand j’etaiś chez mon perè All around in a ring. Traditional

Eho! Eho! Eho! ... Quand j’etaiś chez mon père Apprenti pastoureau, But perchance there are twenty, Il m’a mis dans la lande, From the flock far will stray, Pour garder les troupiaux. As they search for new country, Troupiaux, troupiaux, Where a young lamb may play. Je n’en avais guerè Troupiaux, troupiaux, Eho! Eho! Eho! ... Je n’en avais beaux.

But this perilous country Mais je n’en avais guère Is the home of the foe, Je n’avais qu’ trois agneaux; And the wolf he is hungry Et le loup de la plaine For this lamb white as snow. M’a mangé le plus biau. Troupiaux, troupiaux, Eho! Eho! Eho! ... Je n’en avais guerè Troupiaux, troupiaux, Little lamb my sweet Chloe, Je n’en avais beaux. Do not stray far and wide, For the wolf’s in the city, Il etait́ si vorace Just you stay by my side! N’a laissé que la piau, N’a laissé que la queue, Eho! Eho! Eho! ... Pour mettre à mon chapeau

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Troupiaux, troupiaux, She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree, Je n’en avais guerè But I being young and foolish with her did not agree. Troupiaux, troupiaux, Je n’en avais beaux. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand; Mais des os de la betê She bid me take life easy as the grass grows on the weirs, Me fis un chalumiau But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. Pour jouer à la fetê A la fet’̂ du hamiau. [19] Little Sir William Troupiaux, troupiaux, Traditional Je n’en avais guerè Troupiaux, troupiaux, Easter day was a holiday Je n’en avais beaux. Of all days in the year, And all the little schoolfellows went out to play, Pour fair’ danser l’ village, But Sir William was not there. Dessous le grand ormiau Et les jeun’s et les vieilles Mamma went to the School wife house Les pieds dans les sabiots. And knockèd at the ring, Troupiaux, troupiaux, Saying, ‘Little Sir William if you are there, Je n’en avais guerè Pray let your mother in’. Troupiaux, troupiaux, Je n’en avais beaux. The School wife open’d the door and said: ‘He is not here today. Heigh ho, heigh hi! He is with the little schoolfellows out on the green. Oh I lived with my daddy, Playing some pretty play’. An apprentice was I, Just a poor shepherd laddie Mamma went to the Boyne water To my sheep I did cry. That is so wide and deep, Heigh-ho, heigh-hi, Saying, ‘Little Sir William, if you are there, Oh pity your mother’s They weren’t very many, weep’ . Heigh-ho, heigh-hi, They weren’t very spry. ‘How can I pity your weep, mother, And I so long in pain? Oh they weren’t very many, For the little pen knife sticks close to my heart And the lambs they did die, And the School wife hath me slain. For the wolf swallowed daily All the best and most spry. Go home, go home my mother dear Heigh-ho, heigh-hi, And prepare my winding sheet, They weren’t very many, For tomorrow morning before 8 o’clock, Heigh-ho, heigh-hi, You with my body shall meet. They weren’t very spry. And lay my Prayer Book at my head, O the wolf was so greedy And my grammar at my feet, Only bones he let lie, That all the little schoolfellows as they pass by Only tails he did leave me, May read them for my sake.’ ‘roun’ my hat for to tie. Heigh-ho, heigh-hi, [20] The Bonny Earl o’ Moray They weren’t very many, Traditional Heigh-ho, heigh-hi, They weren’t very spry. Ye Hielands and ye Lowlands, O where hae ye been? So a pipe I did make me They hae slain the Earl o’ Moray, Of the bones white and dry, And laid him on the green. For to sing and make merry When the spring-time is nigh. He was a braw gallant Heigh-ho, heigh-hi, And he rade at the ring; They weren’t very many, And the bonnie Earl o’ Moray Heigh-ho, heigh-hi, He might hae been a King. They weren’t very spry. O lang will his Lady Then the young and the pretty, Look frae the Castle Doune, O, their skirts they let fly, Ere she see the Earl o’ Moray And the old and the ugly Come soundin’ thru’ the toon. For to dance they did try. Heigh-ho, heigh-hi, O wae tae ye, Huntley, They weren’t very many, And wherefore did ye sae? Heigh-ho, heigh-hi, I bade ye bring him wi’ you They weren’t very spry. And forbade ye him to slay.

Translations by Iris Rogers © 1946 by Hawkes & Son (London) Ltd. He was a braw gallant Reproduced by permission of Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers And he played at the glove; Ltd. And the bonnie Earl o’ Moray He was the Queen’s love! [18] The Salley Gardens William Butler Yeats, 1865–1939 O lang will his Lady Look frae the Castle Doune, Down by the Salley gardens my love and I did meet, Ere she see the Earl o’ Moray She passed the Salley gardens with little snow-white feet. Come soundin’ thru’ the toon.

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My master’s coffers empty, my pockets for to fill. [21] O can ye sew cushions? When lolling in my chariot, so great a man I’ll be, Traditional You’ll forget the little plough-boy who whistled o’er the lea.

O can ye sew cushions and can ye sew sheets I’ll buy votes at elections, and when I’ve made the pelf, And can ye sing ballulow when the bairn greets? I’ll stand poll for the parliament, and then vote in myself. And hie and baw, birdie, and hie and baw lamb, Whatever’s good for me, sir, I never will oppose: And hee and baw birdie, my bonnie wee lamb. When all my ayes are sold off, why then I sell my noes.

Hie-o wie-o what will I do wi’ ye? I’ll joke, harangue and paragraph, with speeches charm the ear, Black’s the life that I lead wi’ ye And when I’m tired on my legs, then I’ll sit down a peer. Many o’ you, little for to gi’ ye, In court or city honour so great a man I’ll be, Hie-o wie-o what will I do wi’ ye? You’ll forget the little plough-boy who whistled o’er the lea.

I’ve placed my cradle on yon hilly top [24] O Waly, Waly And aye as the wind blew my cradle did rock. Compiled by Cecil Sharp O hush-a-by, babie, O baw lily loo, And hee and baw birdie, my bonnie wee doo. The water is wide I cannot get o’er, And neither have I wings to fly. Hie-o wie-o what will I do wi’ ye? Give me a boat that will carry two, Black’s the life that I lead wi’ ye And both shall row, my love and I. Many o’ you, little for to gi’ ye, Hie-o wie-o what will I do wi’ ye? O, down in the meadows the other day, A-gath’ring flowers both fine and gay, [22] Oliver Cromwell A-gath’ring flowers both red and blue, Traditional I little thought what love can do.

Oliver Cromwell lay buried and dead I leaned my back up against some oak, Hee-haw – buried and dead, Thinking that he was a trusty tree; There grew an old apple tree over his head, But first he bended, and then he broke; Hee-haw – over his head. And so did my false love to me.

The apples were ripe and ready to fall; A ship there is, and she sails the sea, Hee-haw – ready to fall; She’s loaded deep as deep can be, There came an old woman to gather them all, But not so deep as the love I’m in; Hee-haw – gather them all. I know not if I sink or swim. Oliver rose and gave her a drop, Hee-haw – gave her a drop, O, love is handsome and love is fine, Which made the old woman go hippety hop, And love’s a jewel while it is new, Hee-haw – hippety hop. But when it is old, it groweth cold, And fades away like morning dew. The saddle and bridle, they lie on the shelf, Hee-haw – lie on the shelf, [25] Come you not from Newcastle? If you want any more you can sing it yourself Traditional, from John Pyke Hullah, 1812–1884, The Song Book. Hee-haw – sing it yourself. Come you not from Newcastle? Come you not there away? [23] The Plough Boy O met you not my true love, Traditional Riding on a bonny bay? Tune by William Shield, 1748–1829 Why should I not love my love? A flaxen-headed cowboy, as simple as may be, Why should not my love love me? And next a merry plough-boy, I whistled o’er the lea; Why should I not speed after him, But now a saucy footman, I strut in worsted lace, Since love to all is free? And soon I’ll be a butler, and whey my jolly face. [26] The Salley Gardens When steward I’m promoted, I’ll snip the trademen’s bill, (Please see Track 18)