Ancient Poems [76]
to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer:- Oh! 'tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year.
Ballad: SOMERSETSHIRE HUNTING SONG.
[THIS following song, which is very popular with the peasantry of Somersetshire, is given as a curious specimen of the dialect still spoken in some parts of that county. Though the song is a genuine peasant's ditty, it is heard in other circles, and frequently roared out at hunting dinners. It is here reprinted from a copy communicated by Mr. Sandys.]
THERE'S no pleasures can compare Wi' the hunting o' the hare, In the morning, in the morning, In fine and pleasant weather.
CHO. With our hosses and our hounds, We will scamps it o'er the grounds, And sing traro, huzza! And sing traro, huzza! And sing traro, brave boys, we will foller.
And when poor puss arise, Then away from us she flies; And we'll gives her, boys, we'll gives her, One thundering and loud holler! CHO. With our hosses, &c.
And when poor puss is killed, We'll retires from the field; And we'll count boys, and we'll count On the same good ren to-morrer. CHO. With our bosses and our hounds, &c.
Ballad: THE TROTTING HORSE.
[THE common copies of this old highwayman's song are very corrupt. We are indebted for the following version, which contains several emendations, to Mr. W. H. Ainsworth. The song, which may probably be referred to the age of Charles II., is a spirited specimen of its class.]
I CAN sport as fine a trotting horse as any swell in town, To trot you fourteen miles an hour, I'll bet you fifty crown; He is such a one to bend his knees, and tuck his haunches in, And throw the dust in people's face, and think it not a sin. For to ride away, trot away, Ri, fa lar, la, &c.
He has an eye like any hawk, a neck like any swan, A foot light as the stag's, the while his back is scarce a span; Kind Nature hath so formed him, he is everything that's good, - Aye! everything a man could wish, in bottom, bone, and blood. For to ride away, &c.
If you drop therein, he'll nod his head, and boldly walk away, While others kick and bounce about, to him it's only play; There never was a finer horse e'er went on English ground, He is rising six years old, and is all over right and sound. For to ride away, &c.
If any frisk or milling match should call me out of town, I can pass the blades with white cockades, their whiskers hanging down; With large jack-towels round their necks, they think they're first and fast, But, with their gapers open wide, they find that they are last. Whilst I ride away, &c.
If threescore miles I am from home, I darkness never mind, My friend is gone, and I am left, with pipe and pot behind; Up comes some saucy kiddy, a scampsman on the hot, But ere he pulls the trigger I am off just like a shot. For I ride away, &c.
If Fortune e'er should fickle be, and wish to have again That which she so freely gave, I'd give it without pain; I would part with it most freely, and without the least remorse, Only grant to me what God hath gave, my mistress and my horse! That I may ride away, &c.
Ballad: THE SEEDS OF LOVE.
[THIS very curious old song is not only a favourite with our peasantry, but, in consequence of having been introduced into the modern dramatic entertainment of THE LOAN OF A LOVER, has obtained popularity in higher circles. Its sweetly plaintive tune will be found in POPULAR MUSIC. The words are quaint, but by no means wanting in beauty; they are, no doubt, corrupted, as we have derived them from common broadsides, the only form in which we have been able to meet with them. The author of the song was Mrs. Fleetwood Habergham, of Habergham, in the county of Lancaster. 'Ruined by the extravagance, and disgraced by the vices of her husband, she soothed her sorrows,' says Dr. Whitaker, 'by some stanzas yet remembered among the old people of her neighbourhood.' - HISTORY OF WHALLEY. Mrs. Habergham died in 1703, and was buried at Padiham.]
I SOWED the seeds of love, it was all in the spring,
Ballad: SOMERSETSHIRE HUNTING SONG.
[THIS following song, which is very popular with the peasantry of Somersetshire, is given as a curious specimen of the dialect still spoken in some parts of that county. Though the song is a genuine peasant's ditty, it is heard in other circles, and frequently roared out at hunting dinners. It is here reprinted from a copy communicated by Mr. Sandys.]
THERE'S no pleasures can compare Wi' the hunting o' the hare, In the morning, in the morning, In fine and pleasant weather.
CHO. With our hosses and our hounds, We will scamps it o'er the grounds, And sing traro, huzza! And sing traro, huzza! And sing traro, brave boys, we will foller.
And when poor puss arise, Then away from us she flies; And we'll gives her, boys, we'll gives her, One thundering and loud holler! CHO. With our hosses, &c.
And when poor puss is killed, We'll retires from the field; And we'll count boys, and we'll count On the same good ren to-morrer. CHO. With our bosses and our hounds, &c.
Ballad: THE TROTTING HORSE.
[THE common copies of this old highwayman's song are very corrupt. We are indebted for the following version, which contains several emendations, to Mr. W. H. Ainsworth. The song, which may probably be referred to the age of Charles II., is a spirited specimen of its class.]
I CAN sport as fine a trotting horse as any swell in town, To trot you fourteen miles an hour, I'll bet you fifty crown; He is such a one to bend his knees, and tuck his haunches in, And throw the dust in people's face, and think it not a sin. For to ride away, trot away, Ri, fa lar, la, &c.
He has an eye like any hawk, a neck like any swan, A foot light as the stag's, the while his back is scarce a span; Kind Nature hath so formed him, he is everything that's good, - Aye! everything a man could wish, in bottom, bone, and blood. For to ride away, &c.
If you drop therein, he'll nod his head, and boldly walk away, While others kick and bounce about, to him it's only play; There never was a finer horse e'er went on English ground, He is rising six years old, and is all over right and sound. For to ride away, &c.
If any frisk or milling match should call me out of town, I can pass the blades with white cockades, their whiskers hanging down; With large jack-towels round their necks, they think they're first and fast, But, with their gapers open wide, they find that they are last. Whilst I ride away, &c.
If threescore miles I am from home, I darkness never mind, My friend is gone, and I am left, with pipe and pot behind; Up comes some saucy kiddy, a scampsman on the hot, But ere he pulls the trigger I am off just like a shot. For I ride away, &c.
If Fortune e'er should fickle be, and wish to have again That which she so freely gave, I'd give it without pain; I would part with it most freely, and without the least remorse, Only grant to me what God hath gave, my mistress and my horse! That I may ride away, &c.
Ballad: THE SEEDS OF LOVE.
[THIS very curious old song is not only a favourite with our peasantry, but, in consequence of having been introduced into the modern dramatic entertainment of THE LOAN OF A LOVER, has obtained popularity in higher circles. Its sweetly plaintive tune will be found in POPULAR MUSIC. The words are quaint, but by no means wanting in beauty; they are, no doubt, corrupted, as we have derived them from common broadsides, the only form in which we have been able to meet with them. The author of the song was Mrs. Fleetwood Habergham, of Habergham, in the county of Lancaster. 'Ruined by the extravagance, and disgraced by the vices of her husband, she soothed her sorrows,' says Dr. Whitaker, 'by some stanzas yet remembered among the old people of her neighbourhood.' - HISTORY OF WHALLEY. Mrs. Habergham died in 1703, and was buried at Padiham.]
I SOWED the seeds of love, it was all in the spring,