trad 1649
Martin Carthy wrote in 1988 “It was written in 1649 by an anonymous pamphleteer and with the removal of verses or lines particular to that time becomes a reflection of the propaganda lie currently being touted for all it’s worth (again) that violence or the threat of it will get you nowhere. The tune is adapted from a Breton pipe tune called Ar Ch’akouz (The Leper).” The Melrose Quartet added in 2017 “Martin added verses 3 and 5 in the 1980s and encouraged us to add our own for this revisiting.”
The Melrose Quartet: https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/dominion-of-the-sword
https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/dominion-of-the-sword
Lay by your pleading, law lies a-bleeding Burn all your studies down, and throw away your reading Small power the word has, and can afford us Not half so much privilege as the sword does It’ll the foster the master, plaster disaster This’ll make a servant quickly greater than the master Ventures, enters, seeks and it centres Ever the upper hand, never the dissenter Kruger, Krugerrand-a, whither do you wander? Gone to the suborning of Hastings Banda Kruger Krugerrand-a, tear you all asunder Beira to Luanda, Gaborone to Nyanga Talks of small things, it sets up all things This’ll master money, though money masters all things It is not season to talk of reason Never call it loyal when the sword says treason Balm for the whaler, balm for the the furrier This’ll get the measure of an eco warrior Incognito, come and sink a Rainbow President will never know, I should bloody coco Build a drone, fly it, governments will buy it Devils in the desert sand give us a chance to try it Don’t need their ident, propaganda strident Blow them up remotely with a Hellfire or a Trident. Subtle deceiver turns calm to fever See the pilgrim flay the unbeliever It’ll make a lay man preach and to pray man It’ll make a Lord of him that was but a drayman Conquers the crown too, grave and the gown too Set you up a province but it’ll pull it down too No gospel can guide it, no law decide it In church or state, till the sword sanctified it Take books, rent ’em, who can invent ’em? When that the sword says there’ll be no argumentum Blood that is spilt, sir, has gained all the guilt, sir Thus have you seen me run my sword up to the hilt, sir