The man that was at the chimley-top, He wrappit the rape round his left shouther, And fast to him he drew. 'O, help! O, help! O, hinny, noo, help! For him that ye aye wished me at, He's towed her up, he's towed her down, For I'm just departin' noo.' He's towed her up, he's towed her down, Till every Played nick nack on the wa'. wa'; O! the blue, the bonny, bonny blue, And every auld wife that's sae jealous o' her May she get a good keach i' the creel, creel; THE MERRY BROOMFIELD; OR, THE WEST COUNTRY WAGER. [THIS old West-country ballad was one of the broadsides printed at the Aldermary press. We have not met with any older im pression, though we have been assured that there are black-letter copies. In Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border is a ballad called the Broomfield Hill; it is a mere fragment, but is evidently taken from the present ballad, and can be considered only as one of the many modern antiques to be found in that work.] A NOBLE young squire that lived in the West, And as he was merry he put forth a jest, 'A wager with me,' the young lady replied, If I like the humour you shan't be denied, Quoth he, 'I will lay you a hundred pounds, That a maid if you go to the Broomfield, merry He covered her bet in the midst of the hall, Next morning he went to the merry Broomfield, Now when he came there, having waited a while, The lady came to him, and could not but smile, Upon his right hand a gold ring she secured, That when he awakèd he might be assured She left him a posie of pleasant perfume, He wakened and found the gold ring on his hand, 'My love has been here, I do well understand, Why hadst thou not wakened me out of my sleep, 'Dear master, I barked with my mouth when she And likewise my collar I shook; came, And told you that here was the beautiful dame, If you had waked me when she was here, The wager then had been mine.' 'In the night you should have slept, master, And kept awake in the day; Had you not been sleeping when hither she came, Then a maid she had not gone away.' Then home he returned when the wager was lost, The lady she laughed to find her love crost,- 'O, squire! I laid in the bushes concealed, 'Be cheerful! be cheerful! and do not repine, is mine, SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN. [THE West-country ballad of Sir John Barleycorn is very ancient, and being the only version that has ever been sung at English merry-makings and country feasts, can certainly set up a better claim to antiquity than any of the three ballads on the same subject to be found in Evans's Old Ballads; viz., John Barleycorn, The Little Barleycorn, and Mas Mault. Our west-country version bears the greatest resemblance to The Little Barleycorn, but it is very dissimilar to any of the three. Burns altered the old ditty, but on referring to his version it will be seen that his corrections and additions want the simplicity of the original, and certainly cannot be considered improvements. The common ballad does not appear to have been inserted in any of our popular collections. Sir John Barleycorn is very appropriately sung to the tune of Stingo. See Popular Music, p. 305.] HERE came three men out of the West, THERE Their victory to try; And they have taken a solemn oath, Poor Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and ploughed him in, And then they took a solemn oath, There he lay sleeping in the ground, There he remained till Midsummer, Then they sent men with scythes so sharp, And then poor little Barleycorn, Then they sent men with pitchforks strong They bound him to a cart. And then they brought him to a barn, And so they fetched him out again, Then they set men with holly clubs, But the miller he served him worse than that, It will change your gold into silver, It will make the huntsman hunt the fox, It will bring the tinker to the stocks, It will put sack into a glass, And claret in the can; And it will cause a man to drink Till he neither can go nor stand. ANCIENT POEMS, ETC. 6 |