BRITTEN: Folk Song Arrangements • I 8.557220-21 DISC 1 He was a braw gallant And he rade at the ring; And the bonnie Earl o’ Moray Volume 1 – British Isles He might hae been a King. Publisher: Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Limited O lang will his Lady [1] The Salley Gardens Look frae the Castle Doune, Text: William Butler Yeats (1865–1939) Ere she see the Earl o’ Moray Come soundin’ thru’ the toon. Down by the Salley gardens my love and I did meet, She passed the Salley gardens with little snow-white feet. O wae tae ye, Huntley, She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree, And wherefore did ye sae? But I being young and foolish with her did not agree. I bade ye bring him wi’ you And forbade ye him to slay. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand; He was a braw gallant She bid me take life easy as the grass grows on the weirs, And he played at the glove; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. And the bonnie Earl o’ Moray He was the Queen’s love! [2] Little Sir William Text: Traditional O lang will his Lady Look frae the Castle Doune, Easter day was a holiday Ere she see the Earl o’ Moray Of all days in the year, Come soundin’ thru’ the toon. And all the little schoolfellows went out to play, But Sir William was not there. [4] O can ye sew cushions? Text: Traditional Mamma went to the School wife house And knocked̀ at the ring, O can ye sew cushions and can ye sew sheets Saying, ‘Little Sir William if you are there, And can ye sing ballulow when the bairn greets? Pray let your mother in’. And hie and baw, birdie, and hie and baw lamb, And hee and baw birdie, my bonnie wee lamb. The School wife open’d the door and said: ‘He is not here today. Hie-o wie-o what will I do wi’ ye? He is with the little schoolfellows out on the green. Black’s the life that I lead wi’ ye Playing some pretty play’. Many o’ you, little for to gi’ ye, Hie-o wie-o what will I do wi’ ye? Mamma went to the Boyne water That is so wide and deep, I’ve placed my cradle on yon hilly top Saying, ‘Little Sir William, if you are there, And aye as the wind blew my cradle did rock. Oh pity your mother’s weep’. O hush-a-by, babie, O baw lily loo, And hee and baw birdie, my bonnie wee doo. ‘How can I pity your weep, mother, And I so long in pain? Hie-o wie-o what will I do wi’ ye? For the little pen knife sticks close to my heart Black’s the life that I lead wi’ ye And the School wife hath me slain. Many o’ you, little for to gi’ ye, Hie-o wie-o what will I do wi’ ye? Go home, go home my mother dear And prepare my winding sheet, [5] The trees they grow so high For tomorrow morning before 8 o’clock, Text: Traditional You with my body shall meet. The trees they grow so high and the leaves they do grow green, And lay my Prayer Book at my head, And many a cold winter’s night my love and I have seen. And my grammar at my feet, Of a cold winter’s night, my love, you and I alone have been, That all the little schoolfellows as they pass by Whilst my bonny boy is young, he’s a-growing. May read them for my sake.’ O father, dearest father, you’ve done to me great wrong, You’ve tied me to a boy when you know he is too young. [3] The Bonnie Earl o’ Moray O daughter, dearest daughter, if you wait a little while, Text: Traditional A lady you shall be while he’s growing. I’ll send your love to college all for a year or two, Ye Hielands and ye Lowlands, And then in the meantime he will do for you; O where hae ye been? I’ll buy him white ribbons, tie them round his bonny waist They hae slain the Earl o’ Moray, To let the ladies know that he’s married. And laid him on the green. I went up to the college and I looked over the wall, Saw four and twenty gentlemen playing at bat and ball. ⓟ1995 Lambourne Productions Ltd • © Naxos Rights International Ltd. Page 1 of 13 BRITTEN: Folk Song Arrangements • I 8.557220-21 I called for my true love, but they would not let him come, Greensleeves was my delight. All because he was a young boy and growing. Greensleeves was my heart of gold, At the age of sixteen, he was a married man And who but my lady Greensleeves? And at the age of seventeen he was father to a son. And at the age of eighteen the grass grew over him, [9] I wonder as I wander Cruel death soon put an end to his growing. Words and melody collected by John Jacob Niles (1892–1980) from And now my love is dead and in his grave doth lie. Songs of the Hill Folk The green grass grows o’er him so very, very high. © 1934 (Renewed) by G. Schirmer Inc. (ASCAP) International I’ll sit and I’ll mourn his fate until the day I die, Copyright Secured. And I’ll watch all o’er his child while he’s growing. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted by permission. [6] The Ash Grove I wonder as I wander out under the sky, Text: Traditional How Jesus our Saviour did come for to die For poor or’n’ry people like you and like I, Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander, I wonder as I wander out under the sky. When twilight is fading, I pensively rove, When Mary birthed Jesus ’twas in a cow stall Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander With wise men and shepherds and farmers and all, Amid the dark shades of the lonely Ash-grove. On high from God’s heaven the stars’ light did fall ’Twas there while the blackbird was joyfully singing, And the promise of ages it did then recall. I first met my dear one, the joy of my heart; Around us for gladness the bluebells were ringing. If Jesus had wanted for any wee thing, Ah! then little thought I how soon we should part. A star in the sky or a bird on the wing Still glows the bright sunshine o’er valley and mountain, Or all of God’s angels in Heav’n for to sing, Still warbles the blackbird his note from the tree; He surely could’ve had it ‘cause he was the King! Still trembles the moonbeam on streamlet and fountain, But what are the beauties of nature to me. I wonder as I wander out under the sky, With sorrow, deep sorrow, my bosom is laden How Jesus our Saviour did come for to die All day I go mourning in search of my love. For poor or’n’ry people like you and like I, Ye echoes, O tell me, where is the sweet maiden? I wonder as I wander out under the sky. She sleeps ’neath the green turf down by the Ash-grove. [10] The Crocodile [7] Oliver Cromwell Traditional: words and melody collected by Lucy Broadwood (1858– Text: Traditional 1929) and John Alexander Fuller-Maitland (1856–1936) from English County Songs Oliver Cromwell lay buried and dead © The Britten Estate Limited Hee-haw – buried and dead, Words reproduced by permission of The Britten Estate Limited There grew an old apple tree over his head, Hee-haw – over his head. Now listen you landsmen unto me, The apples were ripe and ready to fall; To tell you the truth I’m bound, Hee-haw – ready to fall; What happened to me by going to sea, There came an old woman to gather them all, And the wonders that I found: Hee-haw – gather them all. Shipwreck’d I was once off Perouse, Oliver rose and gave her a drop, And cast upon the shore, Hee-haw – gave her a drop, So then I did resolve to roam, Which made the old woman go hippety hop, The country to explore. Hee-haw – hippety hop. To my rit fal lal li bollem tit! To my rit fal lal li dee! The saddle and bridle, they lie on the shelf, To my rit fal lal li bollem tit! To my rit fal lal li dee! Hee-haw – lie on the shelf, ’Twas far I had not scouted out If you want any more you can sing it yourself When close alongside the ocean, Hee-haw – sing it yourself. I saw something move which at first I thought Was all the world in motion; Folk Songs But steering up close alongside, I found ’twas a crocodile, From Tom Bowling and Other Song Arrangements And from his nose to the tip of his tail Publisher: Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Limited He measured five hundred mile. To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!... [8] Greensleeves Text: Traditional ’Twas a crocodile, I plainly could see, © The Britten Estate Limited Words reproduced by permission of The He was not of a common race, Britten Estate Limited For I was obliged to climb a high tree Before I could see his face.