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(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 agree.
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. 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.
Return
to Index
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!
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!).
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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
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.
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.
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
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.
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.