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 Index

The Leaves of Life
Bedlam Boys
A Rosebud in June (Broadwood)
A Rosebud in June (Sharp)
The Cutty Wren
Glorious Ale
The Diggers' Song
Our Captain Cried 'All Hands'
Corpus Christi Carol (Queen May, sing May)
Corpus Christi Carol (Over yonder's a park)
Corpus Christi Carol (Lully, lully)
Corpus Christi Carol (Down in yon forest)
All Around My Hat (Two Versions)
The Rigs of the Time
The Mistletoe Bough
Shepherds, Arise
The Gower Wassail

I don't think, somehow, we’re ever going to be competing with such sites as Digital Tradition, but we have a sort of scholarly interest in putting together the most complete versions possible of the songs we want to sing — before hacking them apart again to create a performing version. So, these are the versions of the songs upon which our performing versions are generally based ... more or less ... up to a point. They have been created by the gathering together of as many variants as we can, from performances, books, recordings, the internet and anywhere else we can find, and juggling the pieces until an acceptable version of each possible verse can be extracted. Sometimes it's easy, as in the Diggers’ Song, where there is one known composer. Sometimes, it's almost impossible, in cases where Messrs Anon., Trad., and Unknown have evidently not been singing from the same hymn sheet. In any case, these are hardly ‘definitive’ versions, only constructions which include all of the most commonly accepted verses. This is is always going to be a part of the site which is “under construction”, so it will grow pretty continuously (if in fits and starts) as we find more songs and more parts of songs to add to it.

As a general principle, we would not recommend that you attempt to sing any of these songs as they are set out here. They are not intended as performing editions. We do not think that you would keep your friends, let alone your audience, if you were to start singing, for instance, this version of "Tom of Bedlam" in its entirety. Study them, edit them to your own taste, style and satisfaction, and then launch yet another new variant on an unsuspecting world.

One last point. We've added a few comments of our own, but we have not suggested tunes, nor have we given you much in the way of background information. You know where the Internet is — otherwise, how did you get here? Good luck!

THE LEAVES OF LIFE
(Seven Virgins)

All under the leaves and the leaves of life
I met with virgins seven
And one of them was Mary mild
Our Lord's best mother in heaven.

Either (a) Oh what are you seeking, you seven pretty maids
All under the leaves of life
We are seeking for no leaves, Thomas,
But for a friend of thine.

Or (b1) Oh what are you seeking, you seven fair maids
All under the leaves of life
Come tell, come tell, what seek you
All under the leaves of life.

(b2) We're seeking for no leaves, Thomas,
But for a friend of thine
We're seeking for sweet Jesus Christ
To be our guide and thine.

Go down, go down to yonder town
And sit in the gallery
And there you'll see sweet Jesus Christ
Nailed to a big yew tree.

So down they went to yonder town
As fast as foot could fall
And many a grievous bitter tear
From the virgins' eyes did fall.

Oh peace, mother, oh peace, mother
Your weeping does me grieve
I must suffer this, he said
For Adam and for Eve.

Oh how can I my weeping leave
My sorrows undergo
While I do see my own son die
And sons I have no more.

Dear Mother, dear Mother, you must take John
All for to be your son
And he will comfort you sometimes,
Mother, as I have done.

Oh come thou, John Evangelist,
Thou art welcome unto me
But more welcome my own dear son
Whom I nursed on my knee.

Then he laid his head on his right shoulder
Seeing death it struck him nigh,
The Holy Ghost be with your soul,
I die,Mother dear, I die.

Either (c) Oh the rose, the gentle rose
The fennel that grows so strong,
Amen, good Lord, your  charity
Is the ending of my song.

Or (d1) Oh the rose, the gentle rose
And the fennel that grows so green
God give us grace in every place
To pray for our King and Queen.

(d2) Furthermore, for our enemies all
Our prayers they should be strong
Amen, good Lord, your  charity
Is the ending of my song.

Somewhere out there is a mystery play which has lost its hit song! Or, rather, here is a hit song which has lost its mystery play. As you can see, at two points there are "Either/Or"s. It's up to you. I have my own opinion. I have heard that Norma Waterson says it is a Gypsy Easter carol. I don’t entirely agree: that is what it may have become, but I don't think that is how it started.

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BEDLAM BOYS
(Tom of Bedlam)

For to see mad Tom of Bedlam
Ten thousand miles I've travelled
Mad Magdalen girls on dirty toes
Go to save their shoes from gravel.

Chorus: Still I sing bonny boys, bonny mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonny,
For they all go bare and they live by the air
And they want no drink nor money.

OR Chorus:
While I do sing, any food, any feeding,
Feeding drink or clothing?
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

I went down to Satan's kitchen
For to get me food one morning
And there I got souls piping hot
All on the spit a-turning.

There I picked up a cauldron
Where boiled ten thousand harlots
Though full of flame I drank the same
To the health of all such varlets.

This staff has murdered giants
And my bag a long knife carries
For to cut mince pies from children's thighs
With which to feed the fairies.

The spirits white as lightning
All on my travels guide me
The moon would shake and the stars would quake
Whenever they espied me.

And when that I got murdered
I beat the man in the moon to a powder
His staff I'll break and his bag I'll shake
And there'll howl no demon louder.

I now repent that ever
Poor Tom I so disdained
My wits are lost since him I crossed
Which makes me thus go chained.

No gillot slut or doxy
Shall win my mad Tom from me
I'll weep all night, the stars I'll fight
The fray will well become me.

With a host of furious fancies
Whereof I am commander
With a burning spear and a horse of air
To the wilderness I wander.

With a knight of ghosts and shadows
I summoned am to tourney
Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end
Methinks it is no journey.

The moon embrace her shepherd
And the Queen of Love her warrior
While the first does horn the stars of the morn
And the next the heavenly farrier.

I know more than Apollo,
For oft when he lies sleeping
I see the stars at mortal wars
In the wounded welkin weeping.

The moon's my constant mistress
And the lonely owl my marrow
The flaming drake and the night crow make
Me music to my sorrow.

I have slept not since the Conquest
Till then I never waked
Till the roguish boy of love where I lay
Me found and stripped me naked.

With a thought I took for Maudlin
And a cruse of cockle pottage
With a thing thus tall, Sky bless you all,
I befell into this dotage.

My horn is made of thunder,
I stole it out of heaven
The rainbow there is this I wear
For which I thence was driven.

Of thirty bare years have I
Twice twenty been enraged
And of forty been three times fifteen
In durance soundly caged.

On the lordly lofts of Bedlam
With stubble soft and dainty
Brave bracelets strong, sweet whips, ding-dong
With wholesome hunger plenty.

When I short have shaved my sour face
And swigged my horny barrel
In an oaken inn, I pound my skin
As a suit of gilt apparel.

*The palsy plagues my pulses
When I steal from house or garden
Your pigeons take or loveless leave
Your cock upon the midden.

*The ruffians Snap and Pedro
Are none of Tom's comradoes
The punk I scorn, and the cutpurse sworn
And the roaring boy's bravadoes.

*When I want for food, on nothing
I sup, and when benighted
I shall sleep in Pauls with waking souls
Yet never be affrighted.

The meek, the white, the gentle
Me handle, touch and spare not
But those that cross Tom Rhinoceros
Do what the panther dare not.

From the hag and hungry goblin
That into rags would rend ye,
All the sprites that stand by the naked man
In the book of moons, defend ye.

That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken
Nor wander from your selves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon.

So drink to Tom of Bedlam
Go fill the seas in barrels
I'll drink it all, all brewed with gall
And with Magdalen I will travel.

For to see mad Tom of Bedlam
Ten thousand years I've travelled
Mad Magdalen girls on dirty toes
Go to save their shoes from gravel.

There seem to be at least three songs in one here — some literary, some less so and one, at least, sung by Mad Maudlin. If nothing else, there is wonderful observation, as valid today as it was then, of the state of those people cut adrift to 'care in the community'. The starred verses have been 'adjusted' to take account of the fact that they are almost completely incomprehensible to modern ears, and this is intended as a source for a singable version — the sense has remained the same, though. If you want the original wording, it can be found in various places around the internet. And, as for the tune — I know what you were thinking, but don't forget that the now-familiar tune was written by Nic Jones and Dave Moran.

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A ROSEBUD IN JUNE 1st Version
(Collected by John Broadwood - 1843)

Here the rosebuds in June and the violets are blowing
The small birds they warble on every green bough
Here's the pink and the lily and the daffy down dilly
To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June

The fat ox would go slow
And the lads and the bonny lasses
To the sheep shearing go.

Our shepherds rejoice in their fine heavy fleeces
And the frisky young lambs which their flocks to increase
Each lad takes his lass all on the green grass
To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June

Our clean milking pails they are fouled with good ale
At the table there is plenty of cheer to be found
We'll whistle and sing, and dance in a ring
To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June

Now the sheep shearing's over and the harvest draws nigh
We'll prepare for the fields our strength for to try
We'll reap and we'll mow, we'll plough and we'll sow
To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June

With this one, there seems to be some vague memory of Thomas Morley's 'Now is the Month of Maying'.  Wouldn't you just love to know how it got from the Elizabethan gentry to the Victorian peasantry? Though I am not convinced that the Revd Mr Broadwood might not have had something to do with it. The tendency of vicars to tidy up folk songs is something we all have to contend with — but better the Vicarised version than none at all!

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A ROSEBUD IN JUNE 2nd Version
(Collected by Cecil Sharp - 1904)

It's a rosebud in June
And the violets in full bloom
And the small birds are singing
Love songs on each spray

Chorus:
We'll pipe and we'll sing, love,
We'll dance in a ring, love
When each lad takes his lass
All on the green grass
And it's oh to plough
Where the fat oxen graze low
And the lads and the lasses
Do sheep shearing go.

When we have all sheared
Our jolly, jolly sheep
What joy can be greater than
To talk of their increase

For their flesh it is good
It's the best of all food
And their wool it will clothe us
And keep our backs from cold

Here's the ewes and the lambs
Here's the hogs and the rams
And the fat wethers too
They will make a fine show

If you are wondering how the pigs got into the last verse — it's not pig-type hogs at all, it's Somerset dialect for ... er ... virgin sheep.   Same thing as heifers when you're talking about cows (and I know you talk of little else!).

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THE CUTTY WREN

Oh where are you going? Said Milder to Molder
Oh we may not tell you Said Festel to Fose
We're off to the woods Said John the Red Nose
We're off to the woods Said John the Red Nose

What will you do there? Said Milder to Molder
Oh we may not tell you Said Festel to Fose
We'll hunt the cutty wren Said John the Red Nose (x2)

How will you shoot her? Said Milder to Molder
Oh we may not tell you Said Festel to Fose
With bows and with arrows Said John the Red Nose (x2)

That will not do Said Milder to Molder
Oh what will do then? Said Festel to Fose
Big guns and big cannons Said John the Red Nose (x2)

How will you bring her home? Said Milder to Molder
Oh we may not tell you Said Festel to Fose
On four strong men's shoulders Said John the Red Nose (x2)

That will not do Said Milder to Molder
Oh what will do then? Said Festel to Fose
Big carts and big wagons Said John the Red Nose (x2)

How will you cut her up? Said Milder to Molder
Oh we may not tell you Said Festel to Fose
With knives and with forks Said John the Red Nose (x2)

That will not do Said Milder to Molder
Oh what will do then? Said Festel to Fose
Big hatchets and cleavers Said John the Red Nose (x2)

How will you cook her? Said Milder to Molder
Oh we may not tell you Said Festel to Fose
In pots and in pans Said John the Red Nose (x2)

That will not do Said Milder to Molder
Oh what will do then? Said Festel to Fose
In a bloody great brass cauldron Said John the Red Nose (x2)

Who'll get the spare ribs? Said Milder to Molder
Oh we may not tell you Said Festel to Fose
We'll give them all to the poor Said John the Red Nose (x2)

The only problem I have with this one is that I can't help thinking the last verse is a little weak, as endings go, and I think it could do with a bit more 'oomph'. Just an idea, you understand; you suit yourself.

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OUR CAPTAIN CRIED 'ALL HANDS'

Our captain cried all hands to sail tomorrow
Leaving these girls behind in grief and sorrow
“What makes you go abroad fighting for strangers,
when you could stop at home free from all dangers?

“I would roll you in my arms, my dearest jewel,
so stay at home with me and don't be cruel.
You courted me a while, just to deceive me,
but now my heart you have won you're going to leave me."

 “When I had gold in store you did invite me,
now that I'm low and poor you seems to slight me.
Dry off your brandy tears and leave off weeping,
for happy shall we be at our next meeting.

She fell upon the ground like one that was dying,
wringing her hands with grief, weeping and crying,
saying “There's no belief in man, not my own brother,
so girls, if you can love, love one another.“

Farewell to all my friends, father and mother,
I am your only child, you'll ne'er get another.
'Tis vain to weep for me, for I am going;
The lad I loved so well has been my ruin.”

The lines of this one seem to be pretty constant — but they do seem to get severely mixed up when it comes to putting them together in verses.   This version has got all of them in an order which seems to make sense.

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GLORIOUS ALE

When I was a young man my father did say
The summer is coming, 'tis time to make hay
And when hay's been carted don't you ever fail
To drink gaffer's health in a pint of good ale

Chorus:
Ale, ale, glorious ale
Served up in pewter it tells its own tale
Some folks like radishes, some curly kale
But give I boiled parsnips and a great dish of taters
And a lump of fatty bacon and a pint of good ale.

Our MP's in parliament our faith for to keep
And I hope now we've put him there he won't sit and sleep
He'll always get my vote if he doesn't fail
To bring down the price of our good English ale

Some folks is teetotallers, they drink water neat
It must rot their gutses and give 'em damp feet
But as for my part I know I'll not fail
On boiled beef and bacon and good English ale

This one's fun! I've been trying to put a date on it, and the verse about the MP (line 2 of which has yet to be proved wrong) suggests that it dates from the late 19th or early 20th century, as an employed person in a rural area — which the singer evidently is — would almost certainly not have had a vote before the 3rd Reform Act of 1884 at the earliest, and, maybe, not until 1918. I'm inclined to think that it might even be as late as the 1920s or 30s. I haven't been able to find an old recording of it, or the sheet music, so the question remains open.

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THE DIGGERS SONG

Gerard Winstanley

You noble diggers all, stand up now, stand up now
You noble diggers all, stand up now,
The wasteland to maintain, seeing Cavaliers by name
Your digging does maintain, and persons all defame
Stand up now, stand up now!

Your houses they pull down, stand up now, stand up now
Your houses they pull down, stand up now
Your houses they pull down to fright your men in town
But the gentry must come down,
and the poor shall wear the crown
Stand up now, Diggers all!

With spades and hoes and ploughs, stand up now, stand up now
With spades and hoes and ploughs, stand up now
Your freedom to uphold, seeing Cavaliers are bold
To kill you if they could,
and rights from you to hold
Stand up now, Diggers all!

Their self-will is their law, stand up now, stand up now
Their self-will is their law, stand up now
Since tyranny came in they count it now no sin
To make a gaol a gin
to starve poor men therein
Stand up now, Diggers all!

The gentry are all round, stand up now, stand up now
The gentry are all round, stand up now
The gentry are all round, on each side they are found
Their wisdom's so profound:
to cheat us of our ground
Stand up now, stand up now!

The lawyers they conjoin, stand up now, stand up now
The lawyers they conjoin, stand up now
To arrest you they advise, such fury they devise
The devil in them lies,
and hath blinded both their eyes
Stand up now, stand up now!

The clergy they come in, stand up now, stand up now
The clergy they come in, stand up now
The clergy they come in and say it is a sin
That we should now begin
our freedom for to win
Stand up now, Diggers all!

The tithes they yet will have, stand up now, stand up now
The tithes they yet will have, stand up now
The tithes they yet will have, and lawyers their fees crave
And this they say is brave,
to make the poor their slave
Stand up now, Diggers all!

'Gainst lawyers and 'gainst priests, stand up now, stand up now
'gainst lawyers and 'gainst priests, stand up now
For tyrants are they both, even flat against their oath,
To grant us they are loath
free meat and drink and cloth
Stand up now, Diggers all!

The club is all their law, stand up now, stand up now
The club is all their law, stand up now
The club is all their law to keep men in awe
But they no vision saw
to maintain such a law
Stand up now, Diggers all!

The Cavaliers are foes, stand up now, stand up now
The Cavaliers are foes, stand up now
The Cavaliers are foes, themselves they do disclose
By verses not in prose
to please the singing boys
Stand up now, Diggers all!

To conquer them by love, come in now, come in now
To conquer them by love, come in now
To conquer them by love, as it does you behove
For he is King above,
no power is like to love
Glory here, Diggers all!

You can find quite a lot about and by Mr Winstanley on the Internet, but the long and short of it, as I see it, is that he was the original Champagne Socialist, and thought that the world would be a much better place if people were nice to each other. Not a bad idea!

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Say the word ‘carol’ and everyone automatically thinks ‘Christmas’, but there are Easter Carols, Whitsun Carols and all sorts of other carols. These are versions of a Corpus Christi Carol. The feast of Corpus Christi falls in June (nowhere near December), but you will note how Christmas is doing its best to hijack these as well. You may want to Do Things to some of the verses. But whether you want to use them at their proper time of year or reduce them to just another Christmas Carol, just enjoy the extraordinarily vivid imagery.

CORPUS CHRISTI CAROL I

Down in yon forest be a hall
Sing May, Queen May, sing Mary
Tis coverleted over with purple and pall
Sing all good men for the new-born baby.

Oh in that hall is a pallet bed
Sing May, Queen May, sing Mary
Tis stained with blood like cardinal red
Sing all good men for the new-born baby.

And at that pallet is a stone
Sing May, Queen May, sing Mary
On which the Virgin did atone
Sing all good men for the new-born baby.

Under that hall is a gushing flood
Sing May, Queen May, sing Mary
From Christ's own side 'tis water and blood
Sing all good men for the new-born baby.

Beside that tree a shrub tree grows
Sing May, Queen May, sing Mary
Since he was born it blooms and blows
Sing all good men for the new-born baby.

Oh, on that bed a young Squire sleeps
Sing May, Queen May, sing Mary
His wounds are sick, and see, he weeps
Sing all good men for the new-born baby.

Oh hail yon hall where none can sin
Sing May, Queen May, sing Mary
Cause it's gold outside and silver within
Sing all good men for the new-born baby

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CORPUS CHRISTI CAROL II

Over yonder's a park which is newly begun
All bells in Paradise I heard them a-ring
Which is silver on the outside and gold within
And I love sweet Jesus above all thing.

And in the park there stands a hall
All bells in Paradise I heard them a-ring
Which is covered all over with purple and pall
And I love sweet Jesus above all thing.

And in that hall there stands a bed
All bells in Paradise I heard them a-ring
Which is hung all round with silk curtains red
And I love sweet Jesus above all thing.

And in that bed there lies a knight
All bells in Paradise I heard them a-ring
Whose wounds they do bleed by day and by night
And I love sweet Jesus above all thing.

At that bedside there lies a stone
All bells in Paradise I heard them a-ring
Which the sweet Virgin Mary knelt upon
And I love sweet Jesus above all thing.

At that bed's foot there lies a hound
All bells in Paradise I heard them a-ring
Which is licking the blood as it daily runs down
And I love sweet Jesus above all thing.

At that bed's head there grows a thorn
All bells in Paradise I heard them a-ring
Which ever blows blossom since Christ was born
And I love sweet Jesus above all thing.

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CORPUS CHRISTI CAROL III

Lully, lully, lully, lully
The falcon hath born my make away
He bare him up, he bare him down
He bare him into an orchard brown.

Lully, lully, lully, lully
The falcon hath born my make away
In that orchard there was an hall
That was hanged with purple and pall.

Lully, lully, lully, lully
The falcon hath born my make away
And in that bed there lieth a knight
His wounds bleeding day and night.

Lully, lully, lully, lully
The falcon hath born my make away
By that bed side kneeleth a may
And she weepeth both night and day.

Lully, lully, lully, lully
The falcon hath born my make away
And by that bed side there standeth a stone
“Corpus Christi” written there on.

Lully, lully, lully, lully
The falcon hath born my make away.

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CORPUS CHRISTI CAROL IV

Down in yon forest there stands a hall
The bells of paradise I heard them ring
It's covered all over with purple and pall
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

In that hall there stands a bed
The bells of paradise I heard them ring
It's covered all over with scarlet so red
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

At the bed side there lies a stone
The bells of paradise I heard them ring
Which the sweet Virgin Mary knelt upon
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

Either (a)  And on that bed there lies a knight
The bells of paradise I heard them ring
Whose wounds they do bleed by day and by night
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

Or (b1) And on that green bed there lies a white stag
The bells of paradise I heard them ring
His heart it beats scarlet, its wound it runs red
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

(b2) And on the stag's head there sits a crown
The bells of paradise I heard them ring
The holly and ivy and blood running down
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

(b3) And on the stag's back a blue saddle is slung
The bells of paradise I heard them ring
As soon as I mount him, his pain will be done
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

Under that bed there runs a flood
The bells of paradise I heard them ring
The one half runs water, the other runs blood
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

At the bed's foot there grows a thorn
The bells of paradise I heard them ring
Which ever blows blossom since he was born
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

Over that bed the moon shines bright
The bells of paradise I heard them ring
Denoting our Saviour was born this night
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything

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ALL AROUND MY HAT Version I

All around my hat I will wear the green willow
And all around my hat for a twelvemonth and a day
And if anyone should ask me the reason why I'm wearing it,
It's all for my true love who's far far away.

Fare thee well cold winter and fare thee well cold frost
Nothing have I gained but my own true love I've lost
I'll sing and I'll be merry when occasion I do see
He's a false deluding young man let him go farewell he! All around my hat ...

The other night he brought me a fine diamond ring
But he thought to have deprived me of a far better thing
But I being careful like lovers ought to be
He's a false deluding young man let him go farewell he! All around my hat ...

Here's a half pound of reason and a quarter pound of sense
A small sprig of time and as much of prudence
You mix them all together and you will plainly see
He's a false deluding young man let him go farewell he! All around my hat ...

Stop me if you've heard this one! Frankly, after all these years, it has grown a little stale. Perhaps you'd rather try a different version ...

ALL AROUND MY HAT Version II

All around my hat I will wear the green willow
And all around my hat for a twelvemonth and a day
And if anyone should question me the reason for my wearing it
I'll tell them that my own true love is ten thousand miles away.

My love she was fair and my love she was kind
And cruel the judge and jury that sentenced her away
For thieving was a thing that she never was inclined to
They sent my love across the sea ten thousand miles away
All around my hat ...

I bought my love a golden ring to wear upon her finger
A token of our own true love and to remember me
And when she returns again we never will be parted
We'll marry and be happy for ever and a day
All around my hat ...

Will my love be true and will my love be faithful
Or will she find another swain to court her where she's gone?
The men will all run after her so pretty and so graceful
And leave me here lamenting, lamenting all alone
All around my hat ...

Some young men there are who are preciously deceitful
a-coaxing of the fair young maids they mean to lead astray
As soon as they deceive them so cruelly they leave them
I'll love my love forever though she's far far away.
All around my hat ...

Seven, seven long years my love and I are parted
Seven, seven long years my love is bound to stay
Seven long years I'll love my love and never be false-hearted
And never sigh or sorrow while she's far, far away.
All around my hat  ...

Now I don't see why, with a little careful gender adjustment, this couldn't be a woman's song as well. One thing is certain, when you compare it with the previous, sadly truncated variety, it's a far better song.

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THE RIGS OF THE TIME

O, 'tis of an old butcher, I must bring him in.
He charge two shillings a pound, and thinks it no sin.
Slaps his thumb on the scale-weights and makes them go down,
He swears it's good weight yet it wants half a pound. Singing ...

Honesty's all out of fashion,
These are the rigs of the time,
Time, my boys,
These are the rigs of the time.

Now the next is a baker, I must bring him in.
He charge fourpence a loaf and thinks it no sin.
When he do bring it in, is not bigger than your fist,
And the top of the loaf is popped off with the yeast, Singing ...

No wonder the butter be a shilling a pound
See the little farmer's daughters, how they ride up and down.
If you ask them the reason, they'll say,"Boney, alas,
There's a French war and the cows have no grass."Singing ...

O the next is a publican, I must bring him in
He charge fourpence a quart, he thinks it no sin.
When he do bring it in, the measure is short
The top of the pot is popped off with the froth, Singing ...

Here's next to the tailor who skimps with our clothes,
And next the shoemaker who pinches our toes.
We've naught in our bellies, our bodies are bare
No wonder we've reason to curse and to swear, Singing ...

Now the very best plan that I can find
Is to pop them all off in a high gale of wynd
And when they get up, the cloud it will burst
And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first, Singing ...

For a so-called ‘nation of shopkeepers’ the English have always been hugely suspicious of the people who run commercial enterprises. Or perhaps that’s why they’re suspicious — they know themselves too well!  I’ve always liked the word ‘rig’ as a synonym for ‘scam’ — scams are slick, rigs are just that little bit more obvious and see-through.

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THE MISTLETOE BOUGH

The mistletoe hung on the castle wall,
the holly branch shone in the old oak hall,
the Baron's retainers were blithe and gay,
keeping their Christmas holiday.
The Baron beheld with a father's pride,
his beautiful child, young Lovell's bride,
and she with her bright eyes seemed to be
the star of that goodly company.
Oh, the mistletoe bough,
oh, the mistletoe bough.

"I'm weary of dancing now," she cried,
"Here, tarry a moment, I'll hide, I'll hide,
and, Lovell, be sure thou art first to trace
the clue to my secret hiding place."
Away she ran, and her friends began
each tower to search and each nook to scan,
and young Lovell cried "Where dost thou hide?
I'm lonely without thee, my own fair bride."
Oh, the mistletoe bough,
oh, the mistletoe bough.

They sought her that night, they sought her next day,
they sought her in vain when a week passed away,
in the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot
young Lovell sought wildly, but found her not.
The years passed by and their grief at last
was told as a sorrowful tale long past,
when Lovell appeared, all the children cried
"See, the old man weeps for his fairy bride!"
Oh, the mistletoe bough,
oh, the mistletoe bough.

At length, an old chest that had long lain hid
was found in the castle, they raised the lid,
a skeletal form lay mouldering there,
in the bridal wreath of that lady fair.
How sad was her fate, for in sportive jest
she hid from her lord in the old oak chest.
It closed with a spring, and a dreadful doom,
as the bride lay clasped in a living tomb.
Oh, the mistletoe bough,
oh, the mistletoe bough.

Thomas Haynes Bayly (1797-1839), who wrote the words, was one of the most popular songwriters of his time and was also a playwright. It seems rather a shame that this is about the only one of his songs which remains in the popular repertoire — particularly when it does so with the rather unflattering nickname (courtesy of Bob Copper in his youth) of "The Miserable Row". Of course, that is partly due to its superbly sentimental tune by Sir Henry Bishop (1786-1855), also responsible for "Home, Sweet Home".

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SHEPHERDS, ARISE

Shepherds arise, be not afraid
with hasty steps repair
to David's city, see the maid
with her blest infant there,
with her blest infant there,
with her blest infant there.

Sing, sing all earth,
sing, sing all earth,
eternal praises sing
to our Redeemer
to our Redeemer and our Heavenly King.

Laid in a manger, view a child,
humility divine,
sweet innocence, sounds meek and mild
grace in his features shine,
grace in his features shine,
grace in his features shine.

Sing, sing all earth ...

For us the Saviour came on earth
for us his life he gave
to save us from eternal death,
and raise us from the grave,
and raise us from the grave,
and raise us from the grave.

Sing, sing all earth ...

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THE GOWER WASSAIL

A wassail a wassail throughout all the town
Our cup it is white and our ale it is brown
Our wassail is made of the good ale and true
Some nutmeg and ginger it's the best we can brew

Our wassail is made of the elderberry bough
And so my good neighbours we'll drink unto thou
Besides all on earth you'll have apples in store
Pray let us come in for it's cold by the door

We know by the moon that we are not too soon
And we know by the sky that we are not too high
We know by the stars that we are not too far
And we know by the ground that we are within sound

Now master and mistress if you are within
Pray send out your maid with her lily white skin
For to open the door without more delay
For our time it is precious and we cannot stay

There's a master and a mistress sitting down by the fire
While we poor wassail boys stand here in the mire
Come you pretty maid with your silver headed pin
Pray open the door and let us come in

We're a company designed for to taste of your ale
Out of that little kilderkin that's next to the well
We want none of your pale beer nor none of your small
But a drop from the kilderkin that's next to the well

You have brought us your wassail that's very well known
But we can assure you we've as good of our own
And as for your wassail, we care not a pin
But it's for your good company we'll let you come in

Here's a health to old Colley and her crooked horn
May God send her master a good crop of corn
Of barley and wheat and all sorts of grain
May God send her mistress a long life to reign

We hope that your apple trees prosper and bear
So that we may have cider when we call next year
And where you have one barrel we hope you'll have ten
So that we may have cider when we call again

It's we poor wassail boys so weary and cold
Please drop some small silver into our bowl
And if we're alive for another new year
Perhaps we may call and see who does live here

One of the best of the wassail songs, we think, not least because it refrains from offering a toast to each and every farm animal in turn!

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