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Spiers and Boden




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Songs (2005)
2005
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Bill Brown
11.
Lucy Wan
. . .


Now, Bold Sir Rylas a-hunting went,
All along and down a lea.
And Bold Sir Rylas a-hunting went,
Down by the riverside.
Bold Sir Rylas a-hunting went
To catch some game was his intent,
Down in the grove where the wildflowers grow,
And the green leaves fall all around.

Well, he spied a wild woman sitting in a tree,
All along and down a lea.
"Good lord, what brings you here?" Said she,
Down by the riverside.
"Oh, there's a wild boar in the wood,
He'll eat your flesh and he'll drink your blood."
Down in the grove where the wildflowers grow,
And the green leaves fall all around.

Well, he put his horn unto his mouth,
All along and down a lea.
And he blew it east, north, west and south,
Down by the riverside.
And the wild boar came out of his den,
Bringing his children, nine or ten of them,
Down in the grove where the wildflowers grow,
And the green leaves fall all around.

Then Bold Sir Rylas the wild boar fell on,
All along and down a lea.
And Bold Sir Rylas the wild boar fell on,
Down by the riverside.
And he fought him three hours all the day,
Until the boar would have run away,
Down in the grove where the wildflowers grow,
And the green leaves fall all around.

"Oh, now you have killed my spotted pig,"
All along and down a lea.
"Oh, now you have killed my spotted pig,"
Down by the riverside.
"Oh, there are three things I would have of thee,
Your horse and your hound and your fair lady,"
Down in the grove where the wildflowers grow,
And the green leaves fall all around.

"Oh, now I have killed your spotted pig,"
All along and down a lea.
"Oh, now I have killed your spotted pig,"
Down by the riverside.
"Oh, there's not one thing you'll have of me,
My horse nor my hound nor my fair lady,"
Down in the grove where the wildflowers grow,
And the green leaves fall all around.

Then Bold Sir Rylas the wild woman fell on,
All along and down a lea.
And Bold Sir Rylas the wild woman fell on,
Down by the riverside.
And he split her head down to her chin,
You should have seen her kick and grin.
Down in the grove where the wildflowers grow,
And the green leaves fall all around.

. . .


Once more we are waft by the northern gales a-bounding over the main,
And soon the hills of the tropic isles we all shall see again.
Five sluggish moons have waxed and waned since from the shores sailed we,
And now we are bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to old Maui.

Through many a gale of frost and hail, our big ship bore away,
And in the midst of a moonbeam's kiss we slept at St. Lawrence Bay,
And many's the day we whiled away on the bold Kamchatka Sea,
But now we are bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to old Maui.

Rolling down to old Maui, me boys,
Rolling down to old Maui.
We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground,
Rolling down to old Maui.

Through many a blow of frost and snow and bitter squalls of hail,
Our spires were bent and our canvas rent as we brave the northern gale.
The cruel isles of ice-capped tiles that deck the Arctic sea,
Are many, many leagues astern as we sail to old Maui.

Rolling down to old Maui, me boys,
Rolling down to old Maui.
We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground,
Rolling down to old Maui.

An ample share of toil and care we whalemen undergo,
But when it's over, what care we how bitter the blast may blow?
We're homeward bound, that joyful sound across the Arctic sea,
We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to old Maui.

Rolling down to old Maui, me boys,
Rolling down to old Maui.
We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground,
Rolling down to old Maui.
Homeward bound from the Arctic ground,
Rolling down to old Maui.

. . .


As I was a-walking one morning in Spring,
So soft blew the wind through the leaves growing green.
I spied a pretty fair maid all on a grey mare,
As she was a-riding on down to Horn Fair.

I asked this pretty fair maid for to let me ride,
"Oh no, oh no, for my mummy would sigh.
And besides my own daddy would beat me for sure,
And never let me ride on the grey mare no more."

"I can see by your looks you're for one game of play,
But you will not ride me nor my grey mare today.
You would crumple my muslin and uncurl my hair,
And I shouldn't be fit to be seen when I get to Horn Fair".

"Oh no, my pretty fair maid, how can you say so?
For it is my intention Horn Fair for to go.
We will join the best of company when we do get there,
With horns on our heads just as fine as our hair".

They were the finest of horns that you ever did behold,
The finest of horns, and all gilded with gold.
And so merrily, so merrily, to Horn Fair we did go,
Like jolly brisk couples and all in one row.

. . .


Child Morris stood in the good green wood,
With red gold shined his weed.
By him stood a little page boy,
Dressing a milk-white steed.
"I fear for you my master,
For your fame it waxes wide.
It is not for your rich-rich gold,
Nor for your mickle pride,
But all is for another Lord's lady,
That lives on the Ithan-side."

"Oh, here's to you my bonny-wee boy,
That I pay meat and fee.
Run you an errand to the Ithan-side,
And run straight home to me.
If you make me this errand run,
It's all against my will,
If you make me this errand run,
I shall do your errand ill.
But I fear no ill of you bonny-boy,
I fear no ill of you,
I fear no ill of my bonny-boy,
for a good bonny-boy are you!"

"Take you here this green mantle,
It's all... (um... sorry...)
Bid her come to the good green wood,
for to talk to Child Morris.
And take you here this shirt of silk,
her own hand sewed the sleeve,
bid her come to the good green wood,
and ask not Bernard's leave."

But when he got to the castle wall,
They were playing at the ball.
Four and twenty ladies gay,
Looked over the castle wall.
1God make you safe you ladies all,
God make you safe and sure,
But Bernard's lady among you all,
My errand is to her.

"Oh, take you here this green mantle
It's all lined with the freece,
Come you down to the good green wood,
For to talk to Child Morris.
Take you here this shirt of silk,
Your own hand sewed the sleeve.
Come you down to the good green wood,
And ask not Bernard's leave."

Well, up there spoke a little nurse,
She winked all with her eye.
"Oh welcome, welcome bonny-boy,
With love tidings to me."
"You lie, You lie, you false nurse,
So loud I hear you lie,
Bernard's lady among you all,
I'm sure you are not she!"

Well up there spoke Lord Bernard,
Behind the door stood he.
"Oh I shall go to the good green wood,
And I'll see who he might be.
Go fetch to me your gowns of silk,
And your petticoats so small!
I will ride to the good green wood,
And I'll try with him a fall."

Child Morris stood in the good green wood,
And he whistled and he sang.
"I think I see the lady come,
That I have loved so long."
He's ridden him through the good green wood,
For to help her from her horse,
"Oh no, Oh no," cried Child Morris
"No maid was ere so gross!"

"How now, How now, Child Morris?
How now and how do you?
How long have you my lady loved?
This night, come tell to me."
"When first that I your lady loved,
In green wood among the thyme,
Then she was my first fair love,
Before that she was thine.
When first that I your lady loved,
In green wood among the flowers,
Then she was my first fair love,
Before that she was yours."

Lord Bernard's taken a long broad-sword,
That he was used to wear.
And he's cut off Child Morris' head,
And he's put it on a spear.
He's cut off Child Morris' head,
And he's put it on a spear.
The soberest boy in all the court,
Child Morris' head did bear.

And he's put it in a broad basin,
And he's carried it through the hall.
He's taken it to his lady's bower,
Saying, "Lady play at ball,
Play you, Play you, my lady gay,
Play you from here to the bower.
Play you with Child Morris' head,
For he was your paramour."

"Oh, he was not my paramour,
He was my son indeed.
I got him in my mother's bower,
All in my maiden weed.
I got him in my mother's bower,
With mickle sin and shame,
I brought him up in the good green wood,
All beneath the wind and rain,

"Now I will kiss his bloody cheek,
And I will kiss his chin.
I'll make a vow and I'll keep it true,
I'll never kiss man again.
Oft times I by his cradle sat,
And fond to see him sleep,
Now I'll lie upon his grave,
The salt tears for to weep."

"Bring pillows for my lady,
She looks so pale and wan."
"Oh, none of your pillows Lord Bernard,
But lay me on the stone."
"A pox on you, my lady gay,
That would not tell it to me!
If I'd have known that he was your son,
He'd not have been killed by me!"

. . .


The bats are in the belfry,
The dew is on the moor.
Where are the arms that held me
And pledged her love before?
And pledged her love before?

And it's such a sad old feeling,
Oh, the hills are soft and green.
And it's memories that I'm stealing,
But you're innocent when you dream, when you dream,
You are innocent when you dream, when you dream,
You are innocent when you dream.

I made my love a promise,
That we should never part.
I gave my love a locket,
And then I broke her heart.
And then I broke her heart.

And it's such a sad old feeling,
Oh, the hills are soft and green.
And it's memories that I'm stealing,
But you're innocent when you dream, when you dream,
You are innocent when you dream, when you dream,
You are innocent when you dream.

We're running through the graveyard,
We laughed my friends and I.
We swore we'd be together,
Until the day we died.
Until the day we died.

And it's such a sad old feeling,
Oh, the hills are soft and green.
And it's memories that I'm stealing,
But you're innocent when you dream, when you dream,
You are innocent when you dream, when you dream,
You are innocent when you dream.

And it's such a sad old feeling,
Oh, the hills are soft and green.
And it's memories that I'm stealing,
But you're innocent when you dream, when you dream,
You are innocent when you dream, when you dream,
You are innocent when you dream.

. . .


Down by a weeping willow, where the wild violets bloom,
There lies sweet lovely Nancy so silent in her tomb.
She died not broken-hearted nor sickness ere befell,
But in one moment was parted from the life she loved so well.

One night the moon shone brightly, and the gentle zephyrs blew,
When to her bedroom window, her lover then he drew.
He said "Come let us wander in those dark woods we'll stray,
And there we'll sit and ponder upon our wedding day."

"These woods are dark and dreadful, I am afraid to stay,
Of wandering I am weary, so I'll retrace my way."
"These woods, these gentle zephyrs your feet no more will roam,
So bid farewell forever to all the things that you have known."

Down on her knees before him then she pleaded for her life,
When deep into her bosom he plunged the cruel knife.
"Oh, William, cruel William," it was her dying breath.
Her heart's blood stained the leaves below, and her eyes were closed in death.

Down by a weeping willow where the wild violets bloom,
There lies sweet lovely Nancy so silent in her tomb.

. . .


Oh, after morning there comes the evening!
And after evening another day.
And after old love there comes the new love,
It is hard to keep those that will not stay.

My love he is the finest young man,
That ever nature framed or sun shone on.
Oh, but how to save him, I do not know it,
For he is sentenced all to be hung.

As he marched out through the streets of Derry,
I'm sure he marched up right manfully.
Being much more like some commanding officer,
Than one to hang upon the gallows tree.

But the very first step he put on the gallows,
His blooming colour began to fade.
And with bitter sighing and tender crying,
"Is there no releasement from Derry gaol?

"Where is my love, she is so long a-coming,
And what detains her so long from me?
Or does she think it some shame or scandal
For to see me hang upon the gallows tree?"

Well he looked around and he saw her coming!
As she rode faster than the wind,
"Stand back, stand back you false prosecutors
For I bear releasement all from the King.

"For I made them see they may not hang you,
And I'll crown my love all with a gown of green."

. . .


On Christmas Day it happened so,
Down in the meadows forth to plough.
As we were a ploughing on so fast,
Up comes sweet Jesus, himself at last.

"Oh man, oh man, what makes you plough
So hard upon the Lord's birthday?"
The farmer he answered him with great speed,
"For to plough this day we have great need."

His arms did quaver to and fro,
His arms did quaver, he could not plough.
The ground did open and let him in,
Before that he could repent of sin.

His wife and children are out of place,
His beasts and cattle, they die away.
His beasts and cattle, they die away,
For the breaking of our Lord's birthday.

. . .


Can you dance the shaking of the sheets,
The dance that everyone must do?
Hear the drummer strike a noble beat,
The harp ring sweet and true.
Gather rosebuds while you may,
For when you hear the piper play,
You may to heaven dance away,
You may to heaven dance away.

You may fill your pockets up with gold,
And dress all in rich array.
Wise or foolish, meek or bold,
There's only a penny left to pay.
The poorest man is crowned complete,
The day he finds his winding sheet,
For death is the man that all must meet,
Yes, death is the man that all must meet.

You may build your mansions high,
With roaring fires to keep you warm.
Shut the shutters, bolt the gates,
Draw curtains tightly against the storm.
The strongest tower its hearth betrays,
When my tune the minstrel plays,
A doleful dance to end your days,
A doleful dance to end your days.

. . .

Bill Brown

[Нет текста]

. . .

Lucy Wan

[Нет текста]

. . .


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