What They Say in New England/Old Songs
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Old Songs
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the traveller
I tarried all night until the next day;
I thought it high time to be jogging away;
I asked the landlady what was to pay.
“Come, kiss me, kind sir and go your way.”
Sing bug o’ the Dutch,
Li fal de ding day,
I’ in my pocket but one pennay.
I saw some gentlemen throwing at dice,
I see them throw them once or twice.
As I stood by a-lookin’ on,
They took me to be some gentlemon.
Sing bug o’ the Dutch,
Li fal de ding day,
I’ in my pocket but one pennay.
They had a mind I should throw it again,
I had the good fortune for to win.
If they had a-won and I had lost
I should had to pull out an empty puss,
Sing bug o’ the Dutch.
Li fal de ding day,
The story here told is fragmentary, and there were undoubtedly more verses in the original poem.
the courtin’
On Thanksgivin’ Day, I've heard them say,
I mounted on my dapple gray,
And away I rode to Stanton Green,
To court one farmer's daughter Jane.
Rarefala, rarefala,
Whack for la for larry for la.
When I arrived unto the hall,
Aloud for my true love I did call;
And I trust the servant led me in
That I my courtship might begin.
Rarefala, rarefala,
Whack for la for larry for la.
“My mammy sent me here to woo,
And I can fancy none but you.
If you'll consent and marry me now,
I’ll treat you as well as I know how.”
Rarefala, rarefala,
Whack for la for larry for la.
“Tis I can reap and I can mow,
And I can plough and I can sow;
And away to market to sell my hay,
And that'll bring me twopence a day.”
Rarefala, rarefala,
Whack for la for larry for la.
“Twopence a day will never do,
For I wear silks and satins too,
Besides a coach to take the air”—
Oh, curse the lady, she makes me stare!”
Rarefala, rarefala,
Whack for la for larry for la.
“’Tis silks and satins you shall wear,
Besides a coach to take the air;
And if you won’t consent to marry me to-day,
I’ll take my Dobbin and ride away.”
Rarefala, rarefala,
Whack for la for larry for la.
“Pray, young Johnny, take me now,
For I can spin and milk your cow,
And away to church on the Sabbath Day,
Johnny and I and the dapple gray.”
Rarefala, rarefala,
This song was sung at evening gatherings by a single voice. The parts where the lady spoke were sung in a higher key than the rest,
the ballad of lord lovell
As sung in New England in 1830
Lord Lovell he stood at his castle gate,
A-combing his milk-white steed,
When along came Lady Nancy Bell
To wish her fond lover good speed.
“Oh, where are you going, Lord Lovell?” she said,
“Qh, where are you going?” said she.
“I’m a-going, my Lady Nancy Bell,
Strange countries for to see.”
“Oh, when will you be back?” Lady Nancy she said,
“Oh, when will you be back?” said she,
“In a year or two, or three at the most,
I return to your fair bodee.”
He hadn’t been gone but a year and a day
Strange countries for to see,
When languishing thoughts came into his mind,
Lady Nancy Bell he would go see.
He rode and he rode his milk-white steed,
Till he came to fair London town,
And there he heard St. Varney’s bell,
And the people mourning round.
“Ts there any one dead?” Lord Lovell he said;
“Is there any one dead?” said he.
“The Lord’s daughter is dead,” the lady replied;
“And some call her the Lady Nancee.”
He ordered the grave to be opened forthwith,
And the shroud to be folded down;
And then he kissed her clay-cold cheeks
Till the tears came trickling down.
Lady Nancy she died, as it might be to-day,
Lord Lovell he died to-morrow;
And out of her grave there grew a red rose,
And out of Lord Lovell’s a brier.
They grew and they grew, till they reached the church top,
And so they could grow no higher;
And there they twined in a truelover’s knot,
the hunters of kentucky
Ye've heard of New Orleans,
Its fame for wealth and beauty;
There’s girls of every hue, it seems,
From snowy white to sooty.
We made a little bank of cotton bags,
Not that we were afraid of dying,
But because we choose to rest
Unless the game be flying.
Lord Pachingham, he made his brags,
If he in flight was lucky,
He’d have those girls and cotton bags
In spite of old Kentucky.
Jackson led us down to a cypress swamp,
Where the ground was low and mucky.
There stood John Bull in marshalled pomp,
Here stood old Kentucky.
Jackson he was wide awake,
And was not scat at trifles;
And well he knew
What aim we take with our Kentucky rifles.
They came so near we could see ‘em wink;
We thought it was time to stop ’em.
Oh, ’twould done you good I think
The above is a fragment of a song sung in the time of Jackson’s political campaigns.
the song of the darby ram
As I was goin’ to Darby
On a market’s day,
I saw the biggest ram, sir,
That was ever fed on hay.
He had four feet to go on,
And also for to stand;
And every foot he had, sir,
Would cover an acre of land,
The wool that grew on his belly
Went dragging to the ground;
The wool that grew on his back, sir,
Would weigh ten thousand pound.
Taralal de do,
Taralal de diddledy,
Taralal de day.
The butcher that butchered this ram, sir,
Was drownded in his blood;
And he that held the basin
Was carried away in the flood.
The man that owned this ram, sir,
Must needs be very rich;
And the man that made this song, sir,
He died last year with the itch.
Taralal de do,
Taralal de diddledy,
those young men
Those young men that trot about the town,
You’d think they were worth one thou sand pound:
Look in their pockets—not a penny you’ll find;
False and fickle is a young man’s mind.
These young men when they first begin to love,
It’s nothing but “My Honey” and “My Turtle-dove;”
But once they are married, it’s no such a thing;
marching to quebec
The singers marched, went through several odd manœuvres, and the couples, as they were chosen, joined hands, kissed, and went to their seats.
We’re marching down to old Quebec,
Where the drums are loudly beating;
We shall meet with no attack,
For the British are retreating.
The war’s all over,
So we’ll turn back,
Nevermore to be parted;
We’ll open the ring, and choose a couple in,
For we trust you’re all true-hearted.
Now you want a fine companion,
Want to soothe the cares of life;
Now you have a mind to marry,
Choose you one and handsome wife;
Now you’re joined in love and friendship,
Love and serve him while he’s here;
Kiss, and swear that you’ll prove constant
So long as he remains your dear.
RILLY BOY
Oh, where have you been, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Oh, where have you been, charming Billy?
I have been to seek a wife,
She’s the joy of my life;
But she’s a young thing, and cannot leave her ma.
Can she sweep up the house, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Can she sweep up the house, charming Billy?
Yes; she can sweep up the house,
Quick’s a cat can catch a mouse;
But she’s a young thing, and cannot leave her ma.
Can she make mince-pies, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Can she make mince-pies, charming Billy?
Yes; she can make mince-pies
With a very few flies;
Second Version.
Can she make a pumpkin-pie, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Can she make a pumpkin-pie, charming Billy?
Yes; she can make a pumpkin-pie,
Quick’s a cat can wink its eye;
And she’s a young thing, and cannot leave her mither.
Does she light you up to bed, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Does she light you up to bed, charming Billy?
Yes; she lights me up to bed
With a nightcap on her head;
And she’s a young thing, and cannot leave her mither.
Oh, how old is she, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Oh, how old is she, charming Billy?
Twice six, twice seven,
Twice twenty and eleven;
Neither of these versions is like those given in the song collections. In old times, after the usual verses had been sung, the singers, if they were clever, would make up new ones.
the battle of the nile
When an old-time party wished to amuse itself, it would sometimes be proposed that they all join in singing this battle-song. The words were these:—
Where were you all the while?
Oh, I was at the battle of the Nile,
I was there all the while.
Some one then requests that the company sing the forty-ninth verse of that song. The words are repeated. Other verses are called for, but the joke is that every verse is the same as the first.
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