.
Friday came, and Saturday noon,
All along, &c.
But Tom Pearce's old mare hath not trotted home,
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.
4
So Tom Pearce he got up to the top o' the hill
All along, &c.
And he seed his old mare down a making her will
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.
5
So Tom Pearce's old mare, her took sick and died.
All along, &c.
And Tom he sat down on a stone, and he cried
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.
6
But this isn't the end o' this shocking affair,
All along, &c.
Nor, though they be dead, of the horrid career
Of Bill Brewer, &c.
7
When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night
All along, &c.
Tom Pearce's old mare doth appear, gashly white,
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.
8
And all the long night be heard skirling and groans,
All along, &c.
From Tom Pearce's old mare in her rattling bones,
And from Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon,
Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.
CHORUS: Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.
No 17 YE MAIDENS PRETTY
C.J.S.
[Listen] [XML] [Note]
1
Ye maidens pretty
In town and city,
I pray you pity
My mournful strain.
A maiden weeping,
Her night-watch keeping,
In grief unsleeping
Makes her complain:
In tower I languish
In cold and sadness,
Heart full of anguish,
Eye full of tear.
Whilst glades are ringing
With maidens singing,
Sweet roses bringing
To crown the year.
2
Thro' hills and vallies
Thro' shaded alleys,
And pleached palis—
Ading of grove;
Among fair bowers,
Midst fragrant flowers,
Pass sunny hours,
And sing of love.
In tower I languish, &c.
3
My cruel father
Gave straitest order,
By watch and warder,
I barr'd should be.
All in my chamber,
High out of danger,
From eye of ranger,
In misery.
In tower I languish, &c.
4
Enclosed in mortar,
By wall and water,
A luckless daughter
All white and wan;
Till day is breaking
My bed forsaking,
I all night waking
Sing like the swan.
In tower I languish,
In cold and sadness,
Heart full of anguish,
Eye full of tear,
Whilst glades are ringing
With maidens singing
Sweet roses bringing,
To crown the year.
No 18 THE SILLY OLD MAN
H.F.S.
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1
Aw! Come now, I'll sing you a song,
'Tis a song of right merry intent,
Concerning a silly old man,
Who went for to pay his rent,
Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo.
2
And as this here silly old man,
Was riding along the lane,
A Gentleman thief overtook him,
Saying "Well over-taken old man."
3
"What! well over-taken, do'y say?"
"Yes, well over-taken," quoth he.
"No, no," said the silly old man.
"I don't want thy company.
4
"I am only a silly old man,
I farm but a parcel of ground.
And I am going to the landlord to pay,
My rent which is just forty pound."
5
"But supposing a highway-man stopped you?
For the rascals are many, men say,
And take all the money from off you
As you ride on the king's highway?"
6
"What! supposing some fellow should stop me?
Why badly the thief would be sped.
For the money I carry about me
In the quilt o' my saddle is hid."
7
And as they were riding along,
Along and along the green lane,
The Gentleman thief rode afore him
And summoned the old man to stand.
8
But the old man was crafty and cunning,
As, I wot, in the world there be many,
Pitched his saddle clean over the hedge,
Saying, "Fetch'n if thou would'st have any,"
Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo.
9