Additional notes and music at Hathi Trust.
This is Roud 797.
Sir Roger is dead, and low in his grave,
low in his grave.
Sir Roger is dead, and low in his grave,
Hey! High! low in his grave.
They planted an apple-tree over his head,
over his head.
They planted an apple-tree over his head,
Hey! High! over his head.
The apples got ripe and they all fell off,
they all fell off.
The apples got ripe and they all fell off,
Hey! High! they all fell off.
There came an old woman a-picking them up
a-picking them up.
There came an old woman a-picking them up
Hey! High! a-picking them up.
Sir Roger got up and he gave her a nudge,
he gave her a nudge.
Sir Roger got up and he gave her a nudge,
Hey! High! he gave her a nudge.
It made the old woman go hippety-hop,
go hippety-hop.
It made the old woman go hippety-hop,
Hey! High! go hippety-hop.
Sir Roger got up and he mocked her,
and he mocked her.
Sir Roger got up and he mocked her,
Hey! High! and he mocked her.
NOTES
Singing Game.
Noted by Florence Arkwright. Sung by the children of Worksworth district, Derbyshire.
At Worksworth the game is played thus: All go in single file singing, with appropriate action for each verse:
The players point downwards with the right hand.
They wave their hands over their heads.
They drop their hands.
They stoop and pretend to pick up apples and fill their aprons.
Each pushes the player in front of him.
They all hop violently.
They point, laugh, and hope about derisively.
~ ~ ~
Journal of American Folklore, vol. 13 (1900; online at Hathi Trust). From Pamela McArthur Cole, East Bridgewater, Mass.: An Old Nursery Rhyme. I have heard my mother repeat the following rhyme as familiar from her childhood (she was born in 1797).
Little Johnny Wattles he went to Whitehall,
(Hem, haw, he went to Whitehall)
And there he fell sick among them all,
Hem, haw, among them all.)
When Johnny was dead and laid in his grave,
(Hem, haw, laid in his grave)
The Devil came after him, but couldn't him have,
(Hem, haw, he couldn’t him have.)
And out of his grave there sprang up a tree,
(Hem, haw, there sprang up a tree)
Which bore the best apples that ever you see,
(Hem, haw, that ever you see.)
When the apples were ripe and beginning to fall,
(Hem, haw, beginning to fall)
Old Mother Pinkleton picked them up all,
(Hem, haw, she picked them up all).
Her apron was blue and her bonnet was straw,
(Hem, haw, her bonnet was straw)
And she was the worst woman that ever you saw,
(Hem, haw, that ever you saw.)
She carried home the apples and put them on the shelf,
Hem, haw, she put them on the shelf)
If you want any more, you must sing it yourself.
(Hem, haw, you must sing it yourself.)
Sir Roger is dead, and low in his grave,
low in his grave.
Sir Roger is dead, and low in his grave,
Hey! High! low in his grave.
They planted an apple-tree over his head,
over his head.
They planted an apple-tree over his head,
Hey! High! over his head.
The apples got ripe and they all fell off,
they all fell off.
The apples got ripe and they all fell off,
Hey! High! they all fell off.
There came an old woman a-picking them up
a-picking them up.
There came an old woman a-picking them up
Hey! High! a-picking them up.
Sir Roger got up and he gave her a nudge,
he gave her a nudge.
Sir Roger got up and he gave her a nudge,
Hey! High! he gave her a nudge.
It made the old woman go hippety-hop,
go hippety-hop.
It made the old woman go hippety-hop,
Hey! High! go hippety-hop.
Sir Roger got up and he mocked her,
and he mocked her.
Sir Roger got up and he mocked her,
Hey! High! and he mocked her.
NOTES
Singing Game.
Noted by Florence Arkwright. Sung by the children of Worksworth district, Derbyshire.
At Worksworth the game is played thus: All go in single file singing, with appropriate action for each verse:
The players point downwards with the right hand.
They wave their hands over their heads.
They drop their hands.
They stoop and pretend to pick up apples and fill their aprons.
Each pushes the player in front of him.
They all hop violently.
They point, laugh, and hope about derisively.
~ ~ ~
Journal of American Folklore, vol. 13 (1900; online at Hathi Trust). From Pamela McArthur Cole, East Bridgewater, Mass.: An Old Nursery Rhyme. I have heard my mother repeat the following rhyme as familiar from her childhood (she was born in 1797).
Little Johnny Wattles he went to Whitehall,
(Hem, haw, he went to Whitehall)
And there he fell sick among them all,
Hem, haw, among them all.)
When Johnny was dead and laid in his grave,
(Hem, haw, laid in his grave)
The Devil came after him, but couldn't him have,
(Hem, haw, he couldn’t him have.)
And out of his grave there sprang up a tree,
(Hem, haw, there sprang up a tree)
Which bore the best apples that ever you see,
(Hem, haw, that ever you see.)
When the apples were ripe and beginning to fall,
(Hem, haw, beginning to fall)
Old Mother Pinkleton picked them up all,
(Hem, haw, she picked them up all).
Her apron was blue and her bonnet was straw,
(Hem, haw, her bonnet was straw)
And she was the worst woman that ever you saw,
(Hem, haw, that ever you saw.)
She carried home the apples and put them on the shelf,
Hem, haw, she put them on the shelf)
If you want any more, you must sing it yourself.
(Hem, haw, you must sing it yourself.)
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