English folk-songs given by the: London Glee Singers

              ENGLISH FOLK-SONGS
GIVEN BY THE
London Glee Singers,
MR. FRANK PEMBERTON'S
Character and Costume Concerts.

Miss Carr Shaw, Prima Donna Soprano.
Miss Emlen Jones, Contralto.
Mr. Frank Pemberton, Tenor and Director.
Mr. Robert Hyett, Baritone.
Mr. Isidore Marcil, Bass.
Mrs. Frank Pemberton, Pianist and Accompanist.

American Tour under personal direction of
Mr. Fred Pelham, 315 Inter-Ocean Building,   CHICAGO.

THE CENTRAL LYCEUM BUREAU,
Exclusive Managers for the United States and Canada.
ROCHESTER,   CLEVELAND,   CHICAGO.

NOTE.—These Songs are published and sung by special permission of the compilers, the Rev. S. Baring Gould and the Rev. H. Fleetwood Sheppard and F. W. Bussell, Mus. Bac., Oxon (B. N. C.).

THE BRITTON PTG. CO. CLEVELAND, O.



Program

PART 1. OLD ENGLAND.
(Dresses as worn by Cavaliers and Ladies in the 17th Century).



1.
—Madrigal—My Bonnie Lass She Smileth

Thomas Morley, 1595




MISSES CARR SHAW AND JONES; MESSRS. PEMBERTON, HYETT AND MARCIL.



2.
—Duet—Sweet Nightingale

S. Baring Gould's Collection




MISSES CARR SHAW AND EMLEN JONES.



3.
—Song and Chorus—The Fine Old English Gentleman

Traditional




MR. ROBERT HYETT.



4.
—Quartette—Ye Maidens Pretty






MISSES CARR SHAW AND JONES; MESSRS. PEMBERTON AND MARCIL.



5.
—Ballad—The Flowers in the Valley






MISS CARR SHAW.



6.
—Song and Chorus—The Rout is Out.






MR. ISIDORE MARCIL.



7.
—Interlude—Richard of Taunton Dene

Humorous Somerset Folk-Song




MR. ROBERT HYETT






PART II. ROMANTIC ENGLAND.
(Dresses as worn by Ladies and Gentlemen of the 18th Century).



8.
—Glee—Sleep, Gentle Lady

Bishop




MISSES SHAW AND JONES; MESSRS. PEMBERTON AND MARCIL.



9.
—Ballad—Sunday Morning






MISS CARR SHAW.



10.
—Duet—Heigh Ho

Welsh, 1780




MISS EMLEN JONES AND MR. ROBERT HYETT.



11.
—Song—My Pretty Jane

Bishop




MR. FRANK PEMBERTON.



12.
—Duet—Constant Johnny






MISS CARR SHAW AND MR. PEMBERTON.




INTERVAL OF FIVE MINUTES.



PART III. BY THE SEASHORE.
(Nautical Dresses).



13.
—Ballad and Chorus—The Golden Vanity






MR. ISIDORE MARCIL.



14.
—Song—The Drowned Lover






MISS EMLEN JONES.



15.
—Song and Chorus—Young Sailor Dick






MR. ROBERT HYETT.



16.
—Duologue—Blue Muslin






MISS SHAW AND MR. HYETT.



17.
—Ballad—Tom Bowling

Dibden




MR. FRANK PEMBERTON.



18.
—Humorous Duologue—The Saucy Sailor






MISS EMLEN JONES AND MR. MARCIL.



19.
—Interlude—The Patrol

A. H. West




MRS. FRANK PEMBERTON.






PART IV. ON THE VILLAGE GREEN.
(Old Fashioned Smock Frocks and Peasant Dresses).



20.
—Song and Chorus—The Jolly Waggoner






MR. ISIDORE MARCIL.



21.
—Solo and Quartette—Golden Furze






MISS CARR SHAW.



22.
—Ballad—A Sweet Pretty Maiden






MISS EMLEN JONES.



23.
—Humorous Sketch—Cicely Sweet or Rustic Courtship






MISS JONES AND MR. PEMBERTON.



24.
—Humorous Song—Widdecombe Fair






MR. ROBERT HYETT.



25.
—Duet and Chorus—The Mallard






MISS JONES AND MR. PEMBERTON.






Taken from Rev. S. Baring Gould's Collection.





ENGLISH FOLK-SONGS.

PART I. OLD ENGLAND.
1. MY BONNIE LASS SHE SMILETH.—Madrigal, composed by Thomas Morley, 1595.

Misses Shaw and Jones; Messrs. Pemberton, Hyett and Marcil.


MY bonny lass she smileth, when she my heart beguileth,
Fa, la, la, la.
Smile less, dear love, therefore, and you shall love me more.
Fa, la, la, la, la.
When she her sweet eye turneth, O how my heart it burneth,
Fa, la, la, la.
Dear love, call in their light, or else you burn me quite,
Fa, la, la, la, la.

2. Duet - SWEET NIGHTINGALE.

A very popular Cornish ditty of the 17th Century.

Misses Carr Shaw and Emlen Jones.


MY sweetheart, come along,
Don't you hear the fond song:
The sweet notes of the nightingale flow.
Don't you hear the fond tale
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below?
Pretty maiden, don't fail,
For I'll carry your pail
Safe home to your cot as we go;
You shall hear the fond tale
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.
Pray, let me alone.
I have hands of my own,
Along with you I will not go,
To hear the fond tale
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.
The couple agreed,
To be married with speed.
And soon to the church they did go;
Now they hear the fond tale Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.

3. Song and Chorus.

THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.—One of the oldest of traditional English Songs.  It first was known as Hold Courtier of Queen Elizabeth about 1564.

Mr. Robert Hyett.


I'LL sing you a good old song, that was made by a good old pate,
Of a fine old English gentleman, who had an old estate,
And who kept up his old mansion at a bountiful old rate,
With a good old porter to relieve the old poor at his gate,
Like a fine old English gentleman, one of the olden time.
His hall so old was hung about with pikes and guns and bows
And swords and good old bucklers, which had seen some good old blows;
'Twas there his worship sat in state, in doublet and trunk hose,
And quaffed his cup of good old sack to warm his good old nose,
Like a fine old English gentleman, one of the olden time.
When Christmas old brought frost and cold, he open'd house to all,
And spite of three score years and ten he featly led the ball;
But though he feasted all the rich, he ne'er forgot the small;
Nor was the homeless wanderer e'er driven from the hall
Of the dear old English gentleman, one of the olden time.
But time, though sweet, is strong in flight, and years roll swiftly by,
And Autumn's fading leaf proclaim'd this fine old man must die;
He laid him down right tranquilly, gave up his latest sigh,
While mournful friends stood round his bed, and tears bedimm'd each eye,
For the fine old English gentleman, one of the olden time.


4. Quartette.

YE MAIDENS PRETTY.

Words and melody probably of the Elizabethan Age.

Misses Shaw and Jones, and Messrs.  Pemberton and Marcil.


YE maidens pretty
In town and city,
I pray you pity
My mournful strain.
A damsel 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.
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.
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 a swan.

5. Song.

THE FLOWERS IN THE VALLEY.

A very old Cornish air.

Miss Carr Shaw.


OTHERE was a woman, and she was a widow,
Fair are the flowers in the valley,
With a daughter as fair as a fresh sunny meadow,
The Red, the Green, and the Yellow.
The Harp—the Lute—the Pipe—the Flute—the Cymbal.
Sweet goes the treble Violin.
The maid so rare and the flowers so fair
Together they grew in the valley.
There came a Knight all clothed in red,
Fair are the flowers in the valley,
I would thou wert my bride, he said,
The Red, the Green, and the Yellow.
The Harp—the Lute—the Pipe—the Flute—the Cymbal.
Sweet goes the treble Violin.
I would, she sighed, ne'er wins a bride!
Fair are the flowers in the valley.
There came a Knight all clothed in green,
Fair are the flowers in the valley.
This maid so sweet might be my queen,
The Red, the Green, and the Yellow.
The Harp—the Lute—the Pipe—the Flute—the Cymbal.
Sweet goes the treble Violin.
Might be, sighed she, will ne'er win me!
Fair are the flowers in the valley.
There came a Knight, in yellow was he,
Fair are the flowers in the valley.
My bride, my queen, thou must with me!
The Red, the Green, and the Yellow.
The Harp—the Lute—the Pipe—the Flute—the Cymbal.
Sweet goes the treble Violin.
With blushes red, I come, she said;
Farewell to the flowers in the valley.

6. Song and Chorus.

THE ROUT IS OUT.

Mr. Isidore Marcil.


AMIDSUMMER morning fresh and bright.
And all the world is gay,
The Rout it is out, we must all turn out,
The lads they march away.
The pretty maids are left in town,
They look from the windows high,
They stand in the street, they crowd in the door,
With many a tear and sigh,
Singing, Adieu, my boys, Adieu!  my boys!
Adieu, my boys, adieu!
Alack the day, they be going away!
Pray girls what shall we do?
O bind us posies of pleasant flowers,
Of Marjoram, mint and rue.
And blow us kisses, to take away,
As favors to wear—of you.
And wave the kerchiefs from off your necks,
And ribbons about us bind:
And bid us never, O ne'er forget
The pretty maids left behind
Singing, Adieu &c.
O, why are you looking so sad, my child?
O why does your color change?
I'm thinking of Johnny, who's march'd away
I know not where to range.
My lover he was a gallant blade,
He warbled a merry lay.
And now am I sad, for my pretty lad
So far, O!  so far away!
Singing, Adieu &c.


7.  Humorous Song.

RICHARD OF TAUNTON DENE.

An old Somersetshire Folk-Song, dating probably from 1716.

Mr. Robert Hyett.


LAST new year's morn, as I've heard say,
Young Richard he mounted his dapple grey,
And trotted along from Taunton Dene,
To court the parson's daughter Jean.
Sing dumble dum deary, dumble dum dee.
Then Dicky put on his Sunday clothes,
His buckskin breeches and silken hose,
Likewise a hat on top of his head,
And all bedizzen'd with ribbons so red.
Sing dumble dum deary, &c.
Young Richard rode without dread or fear,
Till come to the house where liv'd his dear;
He knock'd and shouted, and called Hallo!
Be folks at home?  Say, aye or no.
Sing dumble dum deary, &c.
Miss Jean she came without delay
To hear what Dick had got to say;
I s'pose ye know me, Mistress Jean,
I'm honest Rchard, of Taunton Dene.
Sing dumble dum deary, &c.
I'm honest, though I be but poor,
I never was in love before;
My mother bade me come to woo,
And I can fancy none but you.
Sing dumble dum deary, &c.
Suppose that I should be your bride,
Pray what for me would you provide?
For I can neither sew nor spin.
Pray what will your day's work bring in?
Sing dumble dum deary, &c.
Why, I can plough and I can sow,
And sometimes I to market go
With Gaffer Johnson's straw or hay,
And earn my ninepence every day.
Sing dumble dum deary, &c.
No, more than ninepence ne'er will do,
I must have silks and satins too!
Ninepence a day won't buy us meat.
Adzooks!  says Dick I've a sack of wheat,
Sing dumble dum deary, &c.
Besides, I have a house hard by,
'Tis all my own when mammy do die;
If you'll consent to marry me now,
I'll feed you as fat as my feyther's old sow.
Sing dumble dum deary, &c.
Dick's compliments did so delight,
They made the family laugh outright;
Young Richard huff'd, no more would say,
He kicked old Dobbin and rode away.
Sing dumble dum deary, &c.



PART II.  ROMANTIC ENGLAND.
8.  Glee

SLEEP GENTLE LADY.

By Sir Henry Bishop.

Misses Shaw and Jones; Messrs. Pemberton and Marcil.


SLEEP, Gentle Lady, the flowers are closing.
The very winds and waves reposing.
Oh may our soft and soothing numbers
Wrap thee in sweeter, softer slumbers
Peace be around thee lady bright—
Sleep while we sing good night.

9.  Ballad

SUNDAY MORNING.

Miss Carr Shaw.


UPON a Sunday morning, when Spring was in its prime,
Along the Church lane tripping, I heard the Church bells chime,
And there encountered Reuben, astride upon the stile,
He blocked the way, so saucy, upon his lips a smile.
Upon a Sunday morning, there came a rush of bells,
The wind was music laden, in changeful falls and swells;
He would not let me over, he held, he made me stay,
And promise I would meet him again at close of day.
Upon a Sunday evening, the ringers in the tower,
Were practising their changes, they rang for full an hour;
And Reuben by me walking, would never let me go,
Until a Yes I answered, he would not take a No.
Again a Sunday morning, and Reuben stands by me,
Not now the lane, but chancel, where all the folks may see.
A golden ring he offers, as to his side I cling,
O happy Sunday morning, for us the Churchbells ring.

10.  Duet,

HEIGH HO!

Miss Emlen Jones and Mr. Robert Hyett.


She—HEIGH HO!  what shall I do?
I cannot come out, my love, to you,
The lap dog would bark if he heard a stir.
He—Out of the window throw the cur.

She—Poor little Dart, 'twould break his bones
To tumble him out upon the hard stones.
He—Come, love, let us make haste,
Leap out!  nor longer the moments waste.
The horses are waiting, the moon is bright,
'Twere pity to lose such a charming night.
Cupid shall drive us to Gretna Green,
Drop in my arms before we're seen.

11.  Song

MY PRETTY JANE.

Written about 1833 for the open air concerts at Vauxhall.

Mr. Frank Pemberton.


MY pretty Jane, my pretty Jane,
Ah!  never, never look so shy,
But meet me, meet me in the evening.
While the bloom is on the rye.
The spring is waning fast, my love,
The corn is in the ear,
The summer nights are coming, love,
The moon shines bright and clear.
But name the day, the wedding day,
And I will buy the ring,
The lads and maids in favours white,
And village bells shall ring.

12.  Duet

CONSTANT JOHNNY.

Based on a lover's duel entitled, Doubtful Robin, printed as a new ballad about 1860.

Miss Shaw and Mr. Pemberton.


CHARMING Molly, I do love thee,
There's none other I adore,
Pierced by your beauteous eyes,
My heart transfixed lies,
Say, Molly, you'll be mine for evermore.
Constant Johnny, I reject thee,
I thy fruitless suit deplore;
Your love I do decline,
I will be no love of thine;
No, Johnny, constant Johnny,
Ne'er I'll see thee more.
Can I see young Johnny bleeding.
Down in Cupid's rosy bower
See his sad transfixed heart,
See his bitter grief and smart.
O!  dearest Johnny, I am thine for evermore.
Now the lovers are united,
Fast in wedlock's chains secure:
Happy as the livelong day,
Often to each other say,
O John, my dearest, | Johnny.
O Molly, | Molly.
Now we part no more.



PART III. BY THE SEASHORE.
13.  Ballad and Chorus.

THE GOLDEN VANITY.

This ballad was originally printed as Sir Walter Raleigh sailing in the Lowlands, showing how the famous ship, called the Sweet Trinity was taken by a false galley; and how it was recovered by the craft of a little sea boy, who sank the galley.

Mr. Marcil.


A SHIP I have got in the North Country,
And she goes by the name of the Golden Vanity,
And O I fear she'll be taken by a Spanish gal-al-ie,
As she sails by the lowlands low.
To the captain then upspake the little cabinboy,
He said What is my fee, if the galley I destroy?
The Spanish gal-al-ie, if no more it shall annoy,
As you sail by the lowlands low.
Of silver and of gold I will give to you a store,
And my pretty little daughter that dwelleth on the shore,
Of treasure and of fee as well, I'll give to thee galore,
As we sail by the lowlands low.
Then the boy bared his breast, and straightway leaped in,
And he held all in his hand, an auger sharp and thin,
And he borèd with the auger, till the water rushèd in,
And she sank by the lowlands low.
Then the cabin-boy did swim all to the starboard side,
Saying, Messmates, take me in, I am drifting with the tide!
Then they laid him on the deck, and he closed his eyes and died.
As they sailed by the lowlands low.

14.  Ballad.

THE DROWNED LOVER.

A very old song found in print as early as 1671.

Miss Emlen Jones.


AS I was a-walking down by the sea shore,
Where the winds whistled high, and the waters did roar,
Where the winds whistled high, and the waves raged around,
I heard a fair maid make a pitiful sound.

Crying, O my love is drowned!
My love must I deplore!
And I never O!  never
Shall see my love more.
I never a nobler, a truer did see,
A lion in courage, but gentle to me.
An eye like an eagle, a heart like a dove,
And the song that he sang me was ever of love.
Now I cry, O my love is drowned!
My love must I deplore!
And I never, O!  never
Shall see my love more.
He is sunk in the water, there lies he asleep,
I will plunge there as well, I will kiss his cold feet;
I will kiss the white lips, once coral like red,
And die at his side, for my true love is dead.
Now I cry, O my love is drowned!
My love must I deplore!
And I never, O! never
Shall see my love more.

15.  Song and Chorus.

YOUNG SAILOR DICK.

A very popular song in the west of England.

Mr. Robert Hyett.


YOUNG Sailor Dick as he stepped on shore,
To his quarters of old returned;
The hostess glad, cries Dick, my lad.
What prize money have you earned?
Poor luck!  poor luck!  yet, Molly, my duck,
Your daughter I've come to see;
Get ready some supper, with pipes and grog,
And the best Green Bed for me.
My daughter, she's gone out for a walk,
My beds are all bespoken;
My larder's bare like the rum keg there,
And my baccy pipes all are broken.
Says Dick, I'll steer for another berth.
I fear I have made too bold;
But I'll pay for the beer that I've just drunk here.
And he pulled out a handful of gold.
Come down, Molly, quick!  here's your sweet-heart Dick,
He's just come back from sea
He wants his supper, his grog, and a bed,
And the best Green Bed it must be.
No bed, cries Dick, no supper, no grog,
No sweetheart for me, I swear!
You showed me the door when you thought me poor,
So I'll carry my gold elsewhere.

16.  Duologue.

BLUE MUSLIN.

Miss Shaw and Mr. Hyett.


He OH will you accept of a muslin so blue,
To wear all in the morning and to dabble in the dew.
She—No, I will not accept of your muslin so blue,
To wear all in the morning and to dabble in the dew,
Nor I'll walk, nor I'll talk with you.
He—Oh will you accept of a pretty silver pin,
To pin your golden hair, with the fine muslin.
She—No, I will not accpet of a pretty silver pin,
To pin my golden hair, with the fine muslin,
Nor I'll walk, nor I'll talk with you.
He—Oh will you accept of a pair of shoes of cork,
The one was made in London and the other made in York.
She—No, I will not accept of a pair of shoes of cork,
The one that's made in London and the other made in York,
Nor I'll walk, nor I'll talk with you.
He—Oh will you accept of a kiss from loving heart,
That we may join together and never more may part.
She—Yes, I will accept of a kiss from loving heart,
That we may join together and never, never part,
And I'll walk and I'll talk with you.
He—When you might you would not, now you will you shall not,
So fare you well, my black-eyed Sue.

17.  Ballad.

TOM BOWLING, Dibdin.

Written by Charles Dibdin and first sung in 1789.

Mr. Frank Pemberton.


HERE a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling, the darling of our crew,
No more he'll hear the tempest howling, for death has broached him to,
His form was of the manliest beauty, his heart was kind and soft;
Faithful below Tom did his duty and now he's gone aloft.
Tom never from his word departed, his virtues were so rare,
His friends were many and true hearted, his Poll was kind and fair;

And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly—ah!  many's the time and oft.
But the mirth is turned to melancholy for Tom is gone aloft.
Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather when He who all commands,
Shall give to call life's crew together, the word to pipe all hands;
Thus death who Kings and tars despatches, in vain Tom's life hath doft,
For tho' his body's under hatches, his soul is gone aloft.

18.  Humorous Duologue.

THE SAUCY SAILOR.

Old words sung all over England but this melody is peculiar to Devon and Cornwall.

Miss Jones and Mr. Marcil.


He—COME, my fairest, come, my dearest, love with me,
Come, and you shall wed a sailor from the sea.
She—Faith, I want none of your sailors, I must say,
So begone you saucy creature,
So begone from me.  I pray.
You are ragged, you are dirty, smell of tar,
Get you to some foreign countries, hence afar.
He—If I'm ragged, if I'm dirty, of tar I smell,
Yet there's silver in my pockets,
And of gold a store as well.
She—Now I see the shining silver, see the gold:
Down I kneel and very humbly hands do fold;
Saying, O forgive the folly from me fell,
Tarry, dirty, ragged, sailor,
I love more than words can tell.
He—Do not think, you changeful maiden I am mad,
That I'll take you, when there's others to be had.
Not the outside coat and waistcoat make the man,
You have lost the chance that offered,
Maidens, snap—when e'er you can.

19.  Interlude THE PATROL A. H. West.

Mrs. Frank Pemberton,



PART IV.  ON THE VILLAGE GREEN.
20.  Song and Chorus.

THE JOLLY WAGGONER.

An old and favorite folk-song.

Mr. Marcil.


WHEN first I went a-waggoning,
A-waggoning did go,
I filled my parents' hearts with grief,
With sorrow, care, and woe,
And many are the hardships
That I have since gone through,
Sing wo!  my lads, sing wo!
Who would not lead the stirring life
We jolly waggoners do?
Upon a cold and stormy night,
When wetted to the skin,
I bear it with contented heart
Until I reach the inn.
And then I sit a-drinking, boys,
With the landlord and his kin.
When Michaelmas is coming on,
We'll pleasure also find.
We'll make the gold to fly, my boys,
Like chaff before the wind;
And every lad will love his lass,
So merry, brisk, and kind.

21.  Solo and Quartette.

GOLDEN FURZE.

Founded on the folk saying in Devon and Cornwall, When the Furze is out of bloom, then love is out of tune.

Miss Carr Shaw.


THERE'S not a cloud a-sailing by,
That does not hold a shower;
There is not a furze-bush on the moor,
That doth not put forth flower.
About the roots we need not delve,
The branches need not prune,
And love like it is ever here,
And ever love's in tune!
Golden furze in bloom!
O golden furze in bloom!
When the furze is out of flower,
Then love is out of tune.
There's not a season of the year,
Nor weather hot nor cold,
In windy spring, in watery fall,
But furze is clad in gold.
It blossoms in the falling snow,
It blazes bright in June,
And love like it is always here,
And ever opportune.
Golden furze in bloom, etc.

Beside the fire with toasted crabs,
We sit, and love is there,
In merry spring, with apple flowers,
It flutters in the air,
At harvest when we toss the sheaves,
Then love is with them tossed.
At fall when nipp'd and sere the leaves,
Unnipp'd is love by frost.
Golden furze in bloom, etc.

22.  Song.

A SWEET PRETTY MAIDEN.

First published about 1787.

Miss Emlen Jones.


ASWEET pretty maiden sat under a tree
She sighed and said, would that I married might be
My mammy is so crabbed and my daddy is so cross
That a husband for certain could never be worse.
I'll drudge in the kitchen, I'll bake and I'll brew,
A cradle be rocking the weary night through,
A husband, he may scold, he is welcome, I agree,
If that only a husband be granted to me.
My husband may beat me, I little will mind,
If only a husband to beat me I find,
My fingers I will work, I will work them to the bone,
If I get but a husband and home of my own.
A husband they tell me will make me his slave,
So be it if only a husband I have,
A sweet pretty maiden sat under a tree
Singing, O come and marry, O come!  marry me.

23.  Humorous Sketch.

RUSTIC COURTSHIP OR CICELY SWEET.

Miss Jones and Mr. Pemberton.


He—CICELY sweet, the morn be fair,
Wilt thou drive me to despair?
Oft have I sued in vain
And now I've come again,
Wilt thou be mine, or Yes, or No?
Wilt thou be mine or no?
She—Prithee, Simon, quit thy suit,
All thy pains will yield no fruit,
Go booby, get a sack,
To stop thy ceaseless clack.
Go for a booby, go, go, go!
Go for a booby, go!
He—Cicely sweet, if thou'lt love me,
Mother'll do a deal for thee,
Her'd rather sell her cow
Than I should die for thou.
Wilt thou be mine, or Yes, or No?
Wilt thou be mine or no?
She—Mother thine had best by half
Keep her cow and sell her calf.
No never for a crown
Will I marry with a clown,
Go for a booby, go go, go!
Go for a booby, go!
He—Cicely, sweet, you do me wrong,
My legs be straight, my arms be strong,
I'll carry thee about, thou'll go no more afoot.
Wilt thou be mine, or Yes, or No?
Wilt thou be mine or no?
She—Keep thy arms to fight in fray.
Keep thy legs to run away,
Ne'er will I, as I'm a lass
Care to ride upon an ass.
Go for a booby, go, go, go!
Go for a booby, go!
Miss Shaw and Mr. Pemberton.

24.  Humorous Song.

WIDDECOMBE FAIR.

The best known and most popular of all Devonshire songs.

Mr. Robert Hyett.


TOM Pearse, Tom Pearse, lend me your grey mare,
All along, down along, out along, lee.
For I want for to go to Widdecombe Fair,
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Davy,
Dan'l Whiddon,
Harry Hawk, Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.
Chorus—Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.
And when shall I again see my grey mare?
All along, etc.
By Friday soon, or Saturday noon,
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, etc.
Then Friday came, and Saturday noon,
All along, etc.
But Tom Pearse's old mare hath not trotted home,
Wi' Bill Brewer, etc.

So Tom Pearse he got up to the top o' the hill,
All along, etc.
And he seed his old mare down making her will,
Wi' Bill Brewer, etc.
So Tom Pearse's old mare, her took sick and died.
All along, etc.
And Tom he sat down on a stone, and he cried,
Wi' Bill Brewer, etc.
When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night,
All along, etc.
Tom Pearse's old mare doth appear, ghastly white,
Wi' Bill Brewer, etc.
And all the night long he heard skirling and groans,
All along, etc.
From Tom Pearse's old mare in her rattling bones,
Wi' Bill Brewer, etc.

25.  Duet and Chorus THE MALLARD.

Miss Shaw and Mr. Pemberton.

An early dance tune.


WHEN lambkin's skip, and apples are growing,
Grass is green, and roses ablow,
When pigeons coo, and cattle are lowing,
Mist lies white in valleys below,
Why should we be all the day toiling?
Lads and lasses, along with me!
Done with drudgery, dust and moiling
Haste away to the greenwood tree.
The cows are milked, the team's in the stable,
Work is over, and play begun,
Ye farmer lads all lusty and able
Ere the moon rise, we'll have our fun,
Why should we, &c.
So Bet and Prue, and Dolly and Celie,
With milking pail 'tis time to have done.
And Ralph and Phil, and Robin and Willie,
The threshing frail must sleep with the sun.
Why should we, &c.
Upon the green beginneth our pleasure,
Whilst we dance we merrily sing.
A country dance, a jig, and a measure,
Hand in hand we go in a ring.
Why should we, &c.
O sweet it is to foot on the clover,
Ended work and revel begun,
Aloft the planets never give over,
Dancing, circling, round of the sun.
Why should we, &c.
So Ralph and Phil, and Robin and Willie,
Take your partners each of you now.
And Bet and Prue, and Dolly and Celie,
Make a curtsey; lads!  make a bow.
Why should we, &c.






MR. FRANK PEMBERTON.
Tenor and Director