Wednesday
A New Note on the Blog
A New Song: "The French is in force now..."
http://www.box.net/shared/rnykn4yok4
The French is in force now,
Our country to invade,
And to conquer Britain,
Great attempts have made.
But I hope our noble heroes,
Will pull the usurpers down,
Success to King George,
Long may he wear the crown.
There is word at present
That Buonaparte is fled,
And one general Moreau,
He doth him succeed.
Although he is a Scotsman,
He joins the French crew,
I leave you to judge
If his heart has been true.
There's disputes at parliament,
And bribery at home,
Such conduct as this
Makes the war still go on.
But if truth would bear the sway,
And make deceit to cease,
It still might be hoped
There soon might be peace.
There is such taxations
We scarcely can bear,
Which makes the whole country
To be in a steer.
For men to be made soldiers,
The trade is broken down,
And leaves families mourning
In many a town.
But let every individual
Lay it to heart,
Be just in their station,
And act an honest part.
Be just in their dealing,
Act no over-rise,
It is my real opinion
There soon would be peace.
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A New Song: "To end youthful sporting..."
http://www.box.net/shared/42ccgat8go
To end youthful sporting it has been my fortune,
To marry a carter as you plainly see,
For he was my choice, and he has been my fortune,
And who lives so happy as Johnny and me.
So be not surprised at our hasty wedding,
I lov'd him because he was sober and young,
Altho' he's a carter we're lawfully married,
So who should despise us for what we have done.
His parents they lov'd me, for which I regard them,
I love to be grateful in every degree,
I love to be grateful, I ne'er shall be fretful,
While health does remain with my Johnny and me.
So take my advice, never marry for siller,
For 'tis bound to no man, we oftentimes see,
For this world's riches, ten thousand bewitches,
But love was the motive with Johnny and me.
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A New Song ("Adieu Muirkirk...")
http://www.box.net/shared/uogf52aw4s
Adieu Muirkirk now for a while,
Since I'm resolv'd to leave ye,
Since my relations mourn for me,
'Tis that which most I grieve.
But if that fortune on me smile,
There's hopes of my returning,
If expectation do not fail,
There is no cause for mourning.
O we should thank the gentleman,
Gave me this invitation,
Altho' at distance I must gang,
And leave my native nation.
Yet while my family's in health,
I chearfully enjoy it,
I bode no scant, nor fear no want,
As long's I'm well employed.
Muirkirk may say when he's away,
He scarce has left his marrow,
For decency in each degree,
Thus I repeat with sorrow.
He was a noble friend to me,
For which I do regard him,
For kindness and humility,
May the powers above reward him.
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Song ("Pox on the temptation...")
http://www.box.net/shared/7ia5ytam8k
Pox on the temptation,
If one has occasion,
'Tis the sad delusion
Of women and wine.
It raises the passion,
Stupifies the reason,
And makes a man simply
Spend his good time.
But let us be jolly,
And drown melancholy,
Let us join our voices,
In one vocal song.
And as 'tis intended,
Let it be commended,
'Tis a recreation
For a weary mind.
No more of your speeches,
Nor talking of riches,
But let us have music
Of the highest strain.
Come tune up your fiddle,
Bass, counter and treble,
And play the first part,
Of the humours o' glen.
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A New Song ("Now once a young man...")
http://www.box.net/shared/iu6vrju1w4
Now once a young man courted me,
And wan my tender heart, O,
Now he is gone to serve the king,
Woes me that we must part, O.
CHORUS.
O the wars, the cruel wars,
Has left me here a mourning,
Has taken by bonny English lad,
Small hope of his returning.
A serjeant unto Muirkirk came,
And tempt'd him with much money,
And he was swear't to let him gang,
He handsome was and bonny.
O the wars, &c.
His face was fair, his humour free,
With modest kind discretion,
Great honesty experienc'd he,
As many in the nation.
O the wars, &c.
The forge hammer lies by for him,
Alas! now his room is empty,
And he must learn a soldier's reel,
To hear their drums they tempt ay.
O the wars, &c.
At night when I should take my rest,
Mine eye's debar'd from sleeping,
To think on him that I love best,
That has my heart a-keeping.
O the wars, &c.
May Providence preserve him still,
Tho' he be turn'd a rover,
And left me sore against my will,
A poor unhappy lover.
O the wars, &c.
But Providence grant the wars may cease,
That I once more may see him,
Their blackguard tongues is ill to bear,
I wish I had gone with him.
O the wars, &c.
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M'Lellan's Lament for his Master's Death
http://www.box.net/shared/42ccgat8go
All men of every station now hear my lamentation,
I am now so sorry, but little I can say,
I had the best master that ever I served,
But Providence lately called him away.
Let us all be learning, and daily take warning,
For time and its moments will make no delay,
The rich is not spared, because of their greatness,
For all that is breathing must go to the clay.
While he was in health, we were cheerful at Well-wood,
The garden was pleasant, the fountain ran clear,
And had he been spared that was my noble master,
I would not have left him the incoming year.
The poor they will miss him, for he had their blessing,
'Tis very well known he was kind to the poor,
And those that are grateful will surely mourn for him,
For never one hungry he sent from his door.
The colonel is absent, for which I am sorry,
I heartily wish for his speedy return,
He was with him householder, and a chief companion,
When he hears the news, he will certainly mourn.
Adieu Nether Wellwood, for we must go leave you,
And we must be scattered all here and there,
Sometimes we'll be thinking upon one another,
And that friendly lady that we served there.
God bless his successor, and well may he prosper,
I wish he may thrive for the good L -- n's sake,
Altho' he was humble and kind to the poor,
There were both knights and lords him their equal did make.
Adieu to my neighbours, I'm sorry to leave you,
Yet happy it is at this time of the year,
I would been more sorry, had it been in sweet July,
When beautiful flowers in the garden appear.
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A New Song on the Times
http://www.box.net/shared/yahc0mwowg
Let Britain's subjects now rejoice,
Since peace and plenty's come,
It is not drink nor music's noise,
Nor beating of a drum.
But thankfulness it is requir'd,
With humble heart sincere,
Since Providence has been so kind,
As take pity on the poor.
Ye know its two long years and more,
The poor's been sore oppress'd,
And dealers who had ought to sell,
They try'd who could get most.
Rejoice the markets has come down,
Half price they will not get,
Extortioners may join and mourn,
None of them I'll except.
Ye justices and gentlemen,
Ye sure have a great charge,
In time of need unto the poor,
Your charity enlarge.
If widow, or the fatherless,
Goes hungry from your door,
You scarce a blessing can expect,
If you neglect the poor.
And what you give, take my advice,
Give cheerfully away,
You'll get it sevenfold restor'd,
I hope, some other day.
When world's trash is of no use,
Will stand you in no stead,
Nor knife and fork at beef or pork,
At any table head.
For my part I am hearty still,
And ne'er sought charity;
But I'll regard them while I live,
That has been kind to me.
I cheerfully enjoy myself,
Never frets for world's wealth,
Contentment still shall be a feast,
While I enjoy my health.
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A New Song ("All women of fashion")
http://www.box.net/shared/hnzbmrrwg0
All women of fashion,
Give ear to my notion,
I pray give attention
To this my new song,
Concerning a young man
That lives in this country;
With beauty and honour
His fame I will crown.
It would take me long time,
To describe all his beauties,
Yet with pen and paper
I will make them bright;
For I do know women
Of different stations,
That does in his company
Take great delight.
Yet he is more prudent,
And keeps at a distance,
And sees no pleasure
In those that are wed;
But if he would marry
He might be more happy,
Than them that is rich,
And thinks they're more bred.
For wisdom and prudence
Is better than riches,
We have a good author,
'Tis Solomon's word:
I hope this young man
Will make choice of virtue
Before all the riches
The earth can afford.
Ye know Alexander
Had plenty of riches,
Yet wanted contentment
The same to enjoy:
This young man is youthful,
And very good natur'd,
And reads much in history,
His mind to employ.
What tho' he's well mounted
And goes in the fashion,
Yet still keeps a distance
From those that's profane:
Could he guard his eyes
As he can do his passion,
His mind were more easy,
The truth I maintain.
I'll not take the freedom
To mention his lasses,
It would be too much boldness
For me to do so:
Suppose 'tis no evil,
I'll not tell my reason,
I speak as a friend,
And I'll ne'er be a foe.
O Sandy, lad, what struck your head,
When ye were here yestreen,
And ran awa' in sic a haste,
And would not crack to Jean.
Aye when ye see a bonny lass,
Ye never should her shun,
If you do not love their company,
Ye surely will get fun.
If you shun every company,
You'll never get a wife,
Like me ye'll wander up and down,
And live a single life.
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Snuffy Peter
http://www.box.net/shared/7fmj5n64o8
http://www.box.net/shared/q2sncesws4
I'll tell you of a story that happened at the tool,
All the drunkard's glory's in a flowing bowl,
Well done Peter, never let it out,
Light the wax candle, beg your snuff about.
One night as I went up unto the hay-stack hill,
I met with a merchant, and he gave me a gill,
Thank you kindly, merchant, we'll not drink it out,
We'll leave a drap to Peter, he'll soon hing about.
In comes Watty Bell, he was something fou,
He was not himsel', yet bought a stug horn'd cow,
Well done, Watty, may she be luck to you,
She's a muckle price, though not a bonny cow.
Watty Bell the smith, he curs'd, tho' meant no harm,
Though he has walth o' pith, he cannot polish iron,
Woes me Watty, that you cannot do it,
Let Peter light his candle, and help to strike it out.
In came snuffy Peter glowring very wide,
He says, come cease your singing, the noise I cannot bide,
Woes me, Peter, that you cannot do it,
You wou'd rather hear the music of a German flute.
If Peter is not bonny, his conduct is not bra',
Some folks they leave nothing, Peter licks up a'.
Thir lines I will conclude, and I may tell't wi' shame,
If I had been less at the tool, I would been more at hame.
I've ta'en a resolution, happen as it will,
'Tis better late to thrive than never to do well,
Dear snuffy Peter, ye shou'd marry me,
And if ye winna tak' me, ye may let me be.
*"Buy Broom Besoms" must be altered in order for the tune to fit the lyrics of "Snuffy Peter." The link to the tune of "Buy Broom Besoms" is above, followed by a link to the tune once it has been altered for "Snuffy Peter."
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Aughlen Spring
http://www.box.net/shared/uogf52aw4s
Give ear to me of each degree,
Pity my lamentation,
The youth I lov'd is gone from me,
Which causes great vexation.
He is design'd to share his fate,
Out o'er the trackless ocean,
He's cross'd the sea, and gone from me,
When love was in the blossom.
Near Aughlen spring where birds do sing,
While he was here beside me,
I had no fear while he was near,
Whatever might betide me.
I'll visit aft the hawthorn tree,
Where calmly first he told me,
Fine tales of love so comely,
Whiles round he did enfold me.
His handsome shape and manly wit,
His love refin'd and tender,
Superior far, I vow and swear,
To the wealth of Alexander.
And I myself, for want of wealth,
Was frown'd on by his mother,
But for his sake I'll single live,
And ne'er wed any other.
O! may the powers preserve him still,
And keep him safe from danger,
His eyes from viewing youthful toys,
His heart from every stranger.
But if that Fate do favour him,
That he advance in treasure,
And soon return, I'll cease to mourn,
Renewing former pleasure.
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The Laird of Glenlee
http://www.box.net/shared/4dqax304kw
My name is J -- k M -- r, I care not who knows it,
For I am the laird of the lands of Glenlee,
And I am the man that can parritch and brose it,
And drink strong liquors, if you'll keep me free.
I J -- y M -- r, was there e'er such another,
I'm laird of Glenlee, Lord Justice Clerk's brother,
And twenty fat wethers, like rabbits I'll smother,
And eat them myself at the mill of Glenlee.
Religion's a whim, I know nothing about it,
Its principles never were studied by me.
My belly is an idol, and if you dispute it,
Its altar is in state, at the mill of Glenlee,
Where thousands of victims I yearly do offer,
To know if there is any devotion a proffer,
That twice in the year, to the gold of my coffer,
When I lift the rents at the mill of Glenlee.
It is a long time since my kyte was disform'd,
And handsomeness it is a stranger to me;
My head's like a bull's, if it were as well horn'd,
It would fright all the cows on the mill of Glenlee.
My belly's so big, with the weight of my paunches,
The grease of my sides hangs over my haunches,
I'm render'd unable to kiss the fair wenches,
Which makes me lament at the mill of Glenlee.
I'm render'd unable for the pleasures of Venus,
And nothing like that is a pleasure to me,
With eating and drinking I nourish my genius,
I seed like a swine at the mill of Glenlee.
Behold, when I'm dead, they'll say there lies a fat one,
Another cries out, and drunkard and glutton;
Let them say what they will, I'll devour my lov'd mutton
With greed, while I live at the mill of Glenlee.
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Lament for the Herring
http://www.box.net/shared/4dqax304kw
Woes me for the herring that stand in the barrel,
They're short in the fish, and they cannot well sell,
The people that see them, they make it a quarrel,
Indeed they're o'er many to keep to my sell.
If the merchant had known that he is a cruel villain,
And after this, from me he'll ne'er get a shilling,
If they do not sell, I'll send them back till him,
And punish him for that, if in Glasgow he dwell.
I will not blame J -- h, for he is my well-wisher,
He'll do me no more harm, than he'll do himsel;
But, O, 'tis a pity, he look'd not the herring,
I'm sure he'll be troubled when he hears tell.
My friends in Muirkirk; they're a' very sorry,
All but taylor S -- l, as 'tis that scolin's glory:
The loss will be mine, to conclude the story,
And black is my heart, if the herring don't sell.
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A New Song: "There came a bold hero..."
http://www.box.net/shared/0uuuksj0og
There came a bold hero of late from the west,
Unto the moorlands where he thought the pouts best;
And as on the road he did chance for to see
A pout and pursued it to the Lumagee.
When at Bellapath he had a fine chance,
Being of a stout heart, he did boldly advance,
His powder was quick, and the shot he let flee,
Tho' he could kill nothing at the Lumagee.
But discretion oblig'd him her meal pock to bear,
Expecting new favour, put him in good cheer;
He could not enjoy that which made him turn back,
To hunt thro' the planting at night in the dark.
He is a brave shooter wherever he goes,
He loses much powder, tho' not with his foes;
If he wants ammunition, if a pout he does see,
He will surely remember the old Lumagee.
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Song: "The Duke of Gordon's fencibles..."
http://www.box.net/shared/10od1g2gwc
The Duke of Gordon's fencibles,
They're handsome here in Cumnock town;
And at Muirkirk a party lies,
For to haud the reformers down.
They're decent, I can say no less,
For any thing that I do see;
And well they set the Highland dress,
Although they're bare aboon the knee.
Captain S -- h, that gentleman,
O his behaviour's very good,
Tho' he should kiss a bonny lass
And who can say that that is rude.
Lieutenant C -- n I have seen,
I think he is a decent man;
I give this song a Highland tune,
They are an ancient Highland clan.
And Ensign G -- n I have seen,
His countenance is kind and free;
Although he is a gentleman,
He's grac'd wi' great humility.
And their musicianer, T -- m S -- w,
I think he's decent, blythe and young;
I vow he plays his trou --
Although he has the Highland tongue.
The maids in town and country round,
Gallants with them with right good will;
They love to dance the soldier's jig,
And swear they love their soldier still.
There's one call'd F -- r I have seen,
A verse from me he may expect,
One night at Cumnock fell late,
A lass convoy'd me near Affleck.
And F -- r she did take with her,
To crack to her as she gaed hame,
And as his kilt was short before,
Think ye he wad na -- her wame.
The soldiers they like Cumnock best.
Their sweethearts there they're swear to want;
And at Muirkirk they are more shy
Because the colliers are not scant.
Now them that lodg'd at Avandale inn,
They do not like their lodging well,
For they pay boarding very dear,
They feed them with the beggar's meal.
Now these lines I will conclude,
My song made out I will go hame;
The road's not far, the night is good,
This I will sing, and gang my lane.
But Providence the wars would cease,
That chearful hearts would dance and sing,
And every lad enjoy his lass,
And love his country and his king.
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The Spinning Wheel
http://www.box.net/shared/jvkgcdwjok
When I sit at my spinning wheel,
And think on every station,
I think I'm happiest mysel,
At my small occupation.
No court, nor freet, nor dark debate,
Can e'er attend my dwelling,
While I make cloth of diff'rent sorts,
Which is an honest calling.
Indeed ye know the nights are lang,
And sometimes I do weary,
But, as they'll shortly turn again,
I hope I'll grow more cheary.
I'll sing a song with noble glee,
And tune that I think canty,
But I sing best, it is no jest,
When the tobacco's plenty.
I live content, I pay no rent,
In my quiet habitation,
For B -- e he did order it,
Which shews his great discretion.
To favour one so low as me,
While I was no relation;
But now he's dead, and in the clay,
I hope he's won the blessing.
M'A -- m brave, agrees to this
Kind, honest disposition,
He's charitable, just and true,
Not like most men of fashion.
I have no reason here to fret,
That I was never married,
Since I a free possession get,
Of freedom I'm not wearied.
For when around me I do look,
And see the merchants dealing,
For they do triple profit take
every thing they're selling;
For honesty is grown so weak,
It is so old a fashion,
'Tis not regarded in our day,
'Tis scarce throughout the nation.
Kind Providence sent a good crop
For to support our nation,
But Satan's crew sent it abroad,
Which is a sad vexation,
That e'er such blackguard vagabonds
Should have a habitation
Below our British government,
That takes this occupation.
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*"Lass O' Gowrie" is set to the tune of "Loch Erroch Side," which is probably the tune to which Pagan's text refers.
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Mr. T -- r's Lament for the Loss of His Comrade
http://www.box.net/shared/kb2utan4kk
Woes my heart, my comrade's gone,
And sore against my will,
On the thirteenth of August last,
He left me at Springhill.
All in the prime of fowling-time,
When game appear'd full bright,
He suddenly was call'd away,
All in the silent night.
For honour he did not refuse,
His heart was kind and free,
Most grief he had to leave this place,
Was Ladykirk and me;
Because we had been comrades dear,
And long together were,
And many chearful nights had spent
About the town of Ayr.
But since he's gone, I troubled am,
I cannot happy be,
I think I must a lady wed,
To bear me company.
While we enjoy our wealth at home,
With peace and unity;
While my dear comrade, when abroad,
May face his enemy.
'Tis a pity that this gentleman
Was call'd so soon away,
For sure he shot thirteen birds
Ere nine o'clock a-day;
His ammunition still was good,
His gun mark'd wondrous sure,
A better shooter, I declare,
Ne'er hunted Walwood moor.
Were I to tell his properties,
You'd scarcely credit me,
He had the most refined wit,
That ever I did see;
How prudently he could behave
In every company,
And often did delight himself
In his humility.
But since he's gone, there is no help,
I must contented be,
You know that dangers great attend
Those that do sail the sea.
May Providence attend him still,
And may his life long spare,
And send my comrade, Quintin, safe
Home to the town of Ayr.
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A Hunting Song
http://www.box.net/shared/kb2utan4kk
O WOES my heart when I think on
These happy days of ours,
When C -- ng -- n and Sir John
They hunted on the moors.
And Captain M -- ll, that brave youth,
He was with them also;
But woes my heart, he's laid in clay,
To where all flesh must go.
M -- g -- y now has ta'en the moors,
A nobleman, you know;
Since honour has call'd him away,
He chearfully did go;
And left the pleasures at Muirkirk,
In putting-time the fun,
A better sportsman, as I hear,
Scarce ever bore a gun.
But, O, if wars would turn to peace,
The Colonel would return,
And every lad enjoy his lass,
Kind hearts would cease to mourn.
So we shall hope 'gainst woodcock time
To see his Honour yet,
To fright the poachers off the moor,
That have no right to shoot.
One W -- a from Tarbolton came,
With him I'm not acquaint;
The birds were swear to catch for him,
Although they were not scant.
Some say he is a gentleman,
At least a parson's son,
But Fortune did not favour him,
Three times he brake his gun.
Now I've rejoic'd in putting-time
These twenty years and more,
But as I'm now on the decline,
It makes my heart full sore.
There's few that's great for me enquire,
That is in state of wealth,
But two young gentlemen from Ayr,
Who caus'd me drink their health.
I thank'd them kindly for their glass,
They gave it with good will,
For they were cheerful in the house,
And hearty on the hill.
They sent the rum like water round,
To shew a generous part;
There's none came to the moor this year
That had as free a heart.
Long may they live, and happy be,
And ay to mirth incline,
And I be spar'd I hope to see
Them both 'gainst putting-time.
I hope they will call at my door,
As they expect some fun,
And I'll repeat these lines to them, How W -- a brake his gun.
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The Putting Begins
http://www.box.net/shared/h9e4dihgcw
http://www.box.net/shared/uiiirje0ok
Now the putting begins, if the weather holds clear,
I hope C -- ng -- n will shortly come here,
With dogs and attendants the muirfowl to try,
I wish they catch many that they be not shy.
Haste away, haste away, haste away,
It is far more for pleasure than gain;
May friendship and bravery,
And freedom from slavery,
Their Honours maintain.
The brave Sir J -- n M -- ll, last year with him came,
A man of great honour, that well loves the game;
They took up their lodging here at Hunter's hall,
Their generous conduct is well known to all.
Haste away, &c.
Likewise Captain M -- ll was with them last year,
But I fear he'll be absent, there is now such a steer
With both King and Country, at present, you know,
Which makes many a brave Captain abroad for to go.
Haste away, &c.
The brave Sir J -- n M -- ll, a knight of great fame,
Could get plenty of game on his estates at hame;
But yet he delights to Muirkirk for to come,
Himself to amuse with his dog and his gun.
Haste away, &c.
C -- ng -- n has lands where the covey more strong,
On Duckken and Karnsmuir as you walk along;
Much more he possesses on his large estate,
Tho' he is humble and kind, yet his honour is great.
Haste away, &c.
But to his lands in Muirkirk he delights for to come,
To hunt the young muirfowl, and enjoy the fun;
I know little of hunting, but this I am told,
The game is but dull when the feathers are old.
Haste away, &c.
But I wish they may a' get such birds as they want,
For in Muirkirk I doubt they be but very scant,
For there's so many poachers, that how can they shun,
But to spoil the whole game, and hurt gentlemen's fun.
Haste away, &c.
But I hope Captain M -- ll he will come good speed,
For he's a fierce shooter, and shoots without dread,
And loves aye to range where he thinks the game best;
I'm sorry he catch'd some that was in the nest.
Haste away, &c.
I wish that my judgment could clearly express
These gentlemen's bravery, I can do no less;
They're humorous and humble in every degree,
And every man's honour is humility.
Haste away, &c.
My name is Pagan, I liv'd at Muir-mill,
My learning's so weak, how can I speak with skill?
But yet I take pleasure these verses to sing,
Success to the hunting, and God save the King.
Haste away, &c.
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* Considerable changes to the original tune are required in order for these lyrics to be successful. Links to MIDI files for two potential versions are above; the scores are below.
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Saturday
Sources
Digital Tradition Folk Music Database. http://sniff.numachi.com/.
--"The Humors of the Glen"
--"Scarborough Settler's Lament"
--"The Mill, the Mill-O"
--"Langolee"
--"Buy Broom Besoms"
--"The Campbells Are Comin'"
--"Lord Cornwallis' Surrender"
--"I'll Mak Ye Be Fain to Follow Me"
Johnson, Helen K. Our Familiar Songs and Those Who Made Them. New York: Arno P, 1974.
--"The Bush Aboon Traquair" (Robert Crawfurd)
--"Flowers of the Forest" (Jean Elliot)
--"Flowers of the Forest" (Alison Rutherfurd)
--"The Lass O' Gowrie" (Lady Nairne)
Neitzel, Otto. Gems of Antiquity: Vocal Masterpieces. Cincinnati: The John Church Company, 1909.
--"Bright Phoebus" (James Hook)
Richard Robinson's Tunebook. http://www.leeds.ac.uk/music/info/RRTuneBk/.
--"Foot's Minuet"
--"Neil Gow's Lament for His Second Wife"
Electric Scotland. http://www.electricscotland.com/
--"Of A' the Airts the Wind can Blaw"