Category: songs

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Bert Lloyd wrote in 1975: “The chorus probably wasn’t new when it first appeared in print as a drinking song in a pre-Shakespeare comedy, Gammer Gurton’s Needle (1575). The rest of the words of The Beggar’s Song belong to the beginning of the 18th century” James Findlay in 2012 asserted it originated “from an old drinking song, I Cannot Eat But Little Meat, which was first printed in 1557”. Narthen in 2023 asserted the author in the 16th century was named William Stevenson.

I’d rather be a beggar than a king I’ll tell you the reason why: For a king cannot swagger, nor drink like a beggar, Nor be half so happy as I. Chorus: Let your back and sides go bare, me boys Hands and feet grow cold But give to your belly, boys, beer enough Whether it be new or old Sometimes we lie like hogs in a sty In a flock of straw on the ground Sometimes eat a crust that’s rolled in the dust And are thankful it can be found. Sometimes we call at a rich man’s hall To beg for bread and beer. Sometimes we leave with a meatpie up each sleeve, Sometimes we’re kicked out on our ears

 

 

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Old Blind Dogs: Old Blind Dogs – “The Birkin Tree”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1awx0GwSiGw

Oh, lass, gin ye wad think it right Tae gang wi me this very night We’ll cuddle tae the mornin light By aw the lave unseen-o And ye will be my dearie My ain dearest dearie It’s ye will be my dearie Gin ye meet me at ane-o I canna for my mammy gae She locks the door and keeps the key And in the mornin charges me And aye aboot the men-o For she says thay’re aw deceivers Dec?ivers, deceiv?rs She says thay’re aw deceivers Ye canna trust ane-o Oh, niver mynd yer mammy’s yell Nae dout she met yer dad hersel And shoud she flyte, ye can her tell She’s aft times done the same-o So lassie, gie’s yer haund on’t Yer bonnie milk-white hand on’t Oh, lassie, gie’s yer haund on’t And scorn tae lie yer lane-o Oh, lad, my haun’ I canna gie But aiblins I maun steal the key And I’ll meet ye at yon birkin tree That growes doun in the glen-o But dinna lippen, laddie I canna promise, laddie Oh, dinna lippen, laddie In case I canna win-o So he’s gaen tae the birkin tree In hopes his ain true love tae see And fa come trippin ower the lea But juist his bonnie Jean-o And she’s clinkit doun beside him Beside him, beside him She’s clinkit doun beside him Amangst the grass sae green-o “I’m overjoyed wi rapture nou,” Quo he, and preed his cherry mou And Jeannie ne’er haed cause tae rue That nicht upon the green-o For she has got her Johnny Her ain lovin Johnny It’s she has got her Johnny And Johnny’s got his Jean-o

 

 

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One of the oldest printed Christmas carols in English, with its earliest known version published in 1521. Over the centuries it became associated with collegiate traditions, most famously at Queen’s College, Oxford, where it is sung annually during the Boar’s Head Gaudy, a Christmas banquet where the boar’s head is ceremonially presented while the carol is performed.

The boar’s head in hand bear I, Bedecked with bays and rosemary, And I pray you, my masters, be merry, Quot estis in convivio. Chorus: Caput apri defero, Reddens laudes Domino. The boar’s head, as I understand, Is the bravest dish in all the land, Which, thus bedecked with a gay garland, Let us servire cantico. Our steward hath provided this, in honour of the King of bliss, which on this day to be servŠd is in Reginensi Atrio.

 

 

George Ward 

 

Recorded by John Roberts 2007: 2010 Chicago Maritime Festival – John Roberts – The Boatman’s Cure

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vsw_X0-t06Y

Poling up the river in a three-hand boat, Too deep to carry, too shallow to float, Too deep to carry, too shallow to float. Chorus: If it doesn’t lift your spirits it’ll leave you numb Best cure for ______ is a bottle of rum, (x2) Listen to the forwarder struttin’ on the quay, He’s quick to tell the boatman how the river will be. Workin’ up the rift the current swung her round, Bedbugs swum ashore, poor boatman nearly got drowned. Sweatin’ in the heat of day, chillin’ in the rain, Sleepin’ in the open got the ague again. Frostbite in November took my toes away, Devil take the blackfly ’bout the last week in May. Sweet Annie from Schenectady, she stole my heart, Her face is in the firelight, the river sings her part. (heartache) Got a callus on my shoulder and my hands are sore, Sweetest sight some thirsty frontier girl ever saw. (wisdom) I fought all through this wilderness in ’59 Still fancy I see shadows moving most of the time. Morning comes up early for a fast bateau, Shoulder to the setting pole, you push off and go. ?But there ain’t no cure for living in a bottle of rum.

 

 

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about the West Greenland right whale fishing in the 1820s. The Diamond was lost with several other vessels in 1830, locked in ice in Melville Bay. She sailed from Peterhead in the 1820s and fished for whale in the Davis Strait. Wolfstone pairs it with “The Last Leviathan” which I think is a great contextualization.

Wolfstone: Bonnie Ship the Diamond

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NbwqHZtWnGw

The Diamond is a ship, my lads, for the Davis Strait she’s bound, And the quay it is all garnished with bonny lasses ’round. Captain Thompson gives the order to sail the ocean wide, Where the sun it never sets, my lads, no darkness dims the sky. Chorus: And it’s cheer up my lads, let your hearts never fail, For the bonny ship, the Diamond, goes a-fishing for the whale. Along the quays of Peterhead, the lasses stand around, Their shawls all pulled about them and the salt tears running down. Now don’t you weep, my bonny lass, though you be left behind, For the rose will bloom on Greenland’s ice before we change our mind. Here’s health to the Resolution, likewise the Eliza Swan, Here’s a health to the Battler of Montrose and the Diamond, ship of fame. We wear the trousers of the white, the jackets of the blue, When we return to Peterhead, we’ll have sweethearts anoo O it’ll be bright both day and night when the whaling lads come home, In a ship that’s full of oil, my boys, and money to our name. We’ll make the cradles all to rock and the blankets for to tear, And every lass in Peterhead sing, “Hushabye, my dear.”

 

 

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The earliest publication date found is 1651.

How blithe each morn was I tae see My lass came o’er the hill She tripped the burn and ran tae me I met her wi’ good will Chorus: Oh the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom The broom o’ the cowdenknowes Fain would I be in my own country Herding my father’s ewes Hard fate that I should banished be Gone way o’er hill and moor Because I loved the fairest lass That ever yet was born Farewell, ye cowdenknowes, farewell Farewell all pleasures there To wonder by her side again Is all I crave or care

 

 

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About the vendetta between the Earl of Huntly and the Clan Macintosh in 1592. Ewan MacColl wrote in 1956: “Following the killing of the Earl of Murray in February 1592, the Macintoshes of Clan Chattan, intent on revenge, pillaged a castle and killed four men on an estate belonging to the Earl of Huntly, whom they held responsible for Murray’s death. Huntly retaliated by laying waste the lands of Clan Chattan. Returning home from this engagement, he surprised the Macintoshes spoiling his lands at Cabrach and in the ensuing fight killed sixty of them.”

The Iron Horse (Annie Grace & Ross Kennedy vocals): Song: The Burning of Auchindoun -Turn Again.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FMa14q0BXt8

As I cam in by Fiddichside, on a May morning I spied Willie MacIntosh, an oor afore the dawning Turn again, turn again, turn again I bid ye If you burn Auchindoon, Huntly he will heid ye Heid me, hang me, that shall never fear me I?ll burn Auchindoon, though the life it leave me As I cam in by Auchindoon, on a May mornin’ Auchindoon was in a blaze an hour afore the dawning. Crawin’, crawin’, for a’ your crowse crawin’ Burnt your crop and tint your wings, an hour afore the dawning

 

 

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Collected from Lena Bourne Fish, 1941. The original words by Thomas Bayley (tune by Sidney Nelson) was written in the 1820s, without whiskers. The whiskers were apparently added during the 1850’s, when such facial adornment became popular. As Mrs. Fish said,”In the good old days, whiskers were deemed to be an emblem of strength and manhood.”

As they marched through the town with their banners so gay I went to the window to hear the band play, And I peeped through the blinds very cautiously then Lest the neighbors should say I was looking at the men. I heard the drum beat and the music so sweet But my eyes at the moment caught a much greater treat, For the troop was the first that ever I did see And the captain with his whiskers took a sly glance at me. When we met at the ball, I of course thought it right To pretend that we never had met till that night. But he knew me at once, 1 perceived at a glance, So I hung down my head when he asked me to dance. He sat by my side at the end of the set, And the sweet words he told me, I never can forget. For my heart was enlisted and could not get free When the captain with his whiskers took a sly glance at me. Though he marched from the town, and I saw him no more, Yet I think of him still and the whiskers he wore. I dream all the night, and I talk all the day Of the love of a captain who has gone far away. I remember with superabundant delight When we met in the street, and we danced all the night, And I keep in my mind how my heart jumped with glee When the captain with his whiskers took a sly glance at me. But there’s hope! For a friend just ten minutes ago Said the captain had returned from the war, and I know He’ll be looking for me with considerable zest, And when he has found me you all know the rest. Perhaps he is here, let me look ’round the house, Keep still every one of you , as still as a mouse. For if that dear captain is here he will be With his whiskers a-taking a sly glance at me.

 

 

 

 

Melrose Quartet: “A magnificent song learned from John Kirkpatrick, who recorded this English version of the classic Australian convict song “Moreton Bay” for the Song Links double album in 2003. The melody was collected by Ralph Vaughan Williams from Henry Burstow in 1903.”

The Melrose Quartet: https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/the-convicts-lamentation

https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/the-convicts-lamentation

Oh I was born in the land called England Now transported from my native shore And like Columbus in his circle sailing Left behind the girl that I adore Through bounding billows that were loudly raging Like a mariner bold my course did steer; Bound to Bermuda, my destination Till at length that harbour did appear 2.There we joined hands in congratulation For safe arrival from the briny waves; But I soon found out I was mistaken For I was transported to Moreton Bay There every morning as the day was dawning To trace from Heaven that falling dew Up we all started at a moment’s warning Our daily labour to r?new 3.As I walked out one summ?r’s morning I paid no need to where I took my way; I paid no heed to where I wandered By Brisbane water I chanced to stray In silent solitude and meditation As I stood watching of the flowing tide I spied a convict, he was loud complaining The tears of anguish down his cheeks did glide 4.Saying, “I’ve been a prisoner at Port Macquarie In Norfolk Island and Emu Plains In Castle Hill, likewise Toongabbie In all these places I have worked in chains “But in all those places of condemnation Each penal station in New South Wales To Moreton Bay I can find no equal Excessive tyranny each day prevails 5.”Now I am bereft of all consolation Yet hope of liberty for me remains; I am behoved in tribulation Infused with misery by wearing chains “Yet I have once more for to cross the ocean And leave this station called Moreton Bay Where many a man through downright starvation Now lies mouldering all in his clay “Like the Egyptians and ancient Hebrews We were oppressed under Logan’s yoke Till a native hunter lying there in ambush Did give our tyrant his mortal stroke “Now fellow prisoners, be exhilarated Your former sufferings though bear in mind Where from bondage you are extracted You will leave those tyrants far behind.”

 

 

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Alex Cumming: https://alexcummingmusic.bandcamp.com/track/the-cuckoo

https://alexcummingmusic.bandcamp.com/track/the-cuckoo

Chorus: Cuckoo in April Cuckoo in May Cuckoo in June But July flies away Cuckoo in April Cuckoo in May Cuckoo in June But July flies away Oh the cuckoo, she’s a pretty bird She sings as she flies She tells us glad tidings She tells us no lies She plucks the sweet flowers To make her voice clear She never hollers cuckoo ’til the summer is near Oh greeting’s a pleasure And parting’s a grief A false-hearted loverÿ Is worse than a thief They’ll hug you and kiss youÿ And tell you more lies Than the green leaves on the willowÿ Or the stars in the skies Oh the cuckoo, she’s a pretty bird She sings as she flies She tells us glad tidings She tells us no lies She plucks the sweet flowers To make her voice clear She never hollers cuckoo ’til the summer is near