This story comes from the Journal of the Folk-Song Society. Additional versions, plus the music, online at Hathi.
This is Roud 236. It's not exactly a chain tale, but it is fun!
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
I fun' a bird's nest, says Robin-a-bob-bing,
I fun' a bird's nest, says Richard to Robin,
I fun' a bird's nest, says Billy Baloo,
I fun' a bird's nest, says every one.
What will we do wi' ut? says Robin-a-bob-bing,
What will we do wi' ut? says Richard to Robin,
What will we do wi' ut? says Billy Baloo,
What will we do wi' ut? says every one.
We'll tak' ut to keepers, says Robin-a-bob-bing,
We'll tak' ut to keepers, says Richard to Robin,
We'll tak' ut to keepers, says Billy Baloo,
We'll tak' ut to keepers, says every one.
What shall we get for it? says Robin-a-bob-bing,
What shall we get for it? says Richard to Robin,
What shall we get for it? says Billy Baloo,
What shall we get for it? says every one.
Three ha-pence a piece, says Robin-a-bob-bing,
Three ha-pence a piece, says Richard to Robin,
Three ha-pence a piece, says Billy Baloo,
Three ha-pence a piece, says every one.
What shall we do wi' ut? says Robin-a-bob-bing,
What shall we do wi' ut? says Richard to Robin,
What shall we do wi' ut? says Billy Baloo,
What shall we do wi' ut? says every one.
We'll go and get drunk, says Robin-a-bob-bing,
We'll go and get drunk, says Richard to Robin,
We'll go and get drunk, says Billy Baloo,
We'll go and get drunk, says every one.
How shall we get home? says Robin-a-bob-bing,
How shall we get home? says Richard to Robin,
How shall we get home? says Billy Baloo,
How shall we get home? says every one.
We'll hire a cab, says Robin-a-bob-bing,
We'll hire a cab, says Richard to Robin,
We'll hire a cab, says Billy Baloo,
We'll hire a cab, says every one.
How shall we get in? says Robin-a-bob-bing,
How shall we get in? says Richard to Robin,
How shall we get in? says Billy Baloo,
How shall we get in? says every one.
We'll tumble in, says Robin-a-bob-bing,
We'll tumble in, says Richard to Robin,
We'll tumble in, says Billy Baloo,
We'll tumble in, says every one.
How shall we get out? says Robin-a-bob-bing,
How shall we get out? says Richard to Robin,
How shall we get out? says Billy Baloo,
How shall we get out? says every one.
Same way we got in, says Robin-a-bob-bing,
Same way we got in, says Richard to Robin,
Same way we got in, says Billy Baloo,
Same way we got in, says every one.
NOTES
2. Sung by Mr. Walter H. Birch, who learnt it from a Yorkshireman.
The second version was given to me by my brother-in-law, who heard it sun at Downton College by a fellow-student from Yorkshire. Cecil J. Sharp
Showing posts with label roud-to-do. Show all posts
Showing posts with label roud-to-do. Show all posts
October 9. Story of the Day: Gray and Black Horses
From Negro Folk Rhymes by Thomas Talley.
This is Roud 469.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
GRAY AND BLACK HORSES
I went down to de woods an' I couldn' go 'cross,
So I paid five dollars fer an ole gray hoss.
De hoss wouldn' pull, so I sōl' 'im fer a bull.
De bull wouldn' holler, so I sōl' 'im fer a dollar.
De dollar wouldn' pass, so I throwed it in de grass.
Den de grass wouldn' grow. Heigho! Heigho!
Through dat huckleberry woods I couldn' git far,
So I paid a good dollar fer an ole black mar'.
W'en I got down dar, de trees wouldn' bar;
So I had to gallop back on dat ole black mar'.
"Bookitie-bar!" Dat ole black mar';
"Bookitie-bar!" Dat ole black mar'.
"Bookitie-bar!" Dat ole black mar'.
September 29. Story of the Day: Red Herring.
This version of the song comes from the Journal of the Folk-Song Society. For additional versions, plus the music, online at Hathi.
This is Roud 128.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's head?
I made so good oven as ever baked bread.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's tail?
I made so good ship as ever set sail.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's ribs?
Made forty new cradles and fifty new cribs.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's guts?
I made so good dreshels as ever dreshed woats.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's navel?
As good an old putt as ever drawed gravel.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's whole?
I made as good waggon as ever hauled coal.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
NOTES
Sung by Mrs. Louie Hooper at Hambridge, Somerset, Aug. 18th, 1904. Noted by Cecil J. Sharp.
This is Roud 128.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
THE RED HERRING
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's head?
I made so good oven as ever baked bread.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's tail?
I made so good ship as ever set sail.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's ribs?
Made forty new cradles and fifty new cribs.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's guts?
I made so good dreshels as ever dreshed woats.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's navel?
As good an old putt as ever drawed gravel.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
O what do you think I made out of my red herring's whole?
I made as good waggon as ever hauled coal.
So it's beagles and long-dogs and a man to whip in;
And don't you think I done well with my jolly red herring?
NOTES
Sung by Mrs. Louie Hooper at Hambridge, Somerset, Aug. 18th, 1904. Noted by Cecil J. Sharp.
Talley. Peep Squirrel
From Negro Folk Rhymes by Thomas Talley.
This is Roud 7645.
Peep squir'l, ying-ding-did-lum;
Peep squir'l, it's almos' day,
Look squir'l, ying-ding-did-lum,
Look squir'l, an' run away.
Walk squir'l, ying-ding-did-lum;
Walk squir'l, fer dat's de way.
Skip squir'l, ying-ding-did-lum;
Skip squir'l, all dress in gray.
Run squir'l! Ying-ding-did-lum!
Run squir'l! Oh, run away!
I cotch you squir'l! Ying-ding-did-lum!
I cotch you squir'l! Now stay, I say.
This is Roud 7645.
Peep squir'l, ying-ding-did-lum;
Peep squir'l, it's almos' day,
Look squir'l, ying-ding-did-lum,
Look squir'l, an' run away.
Walk squir'l, ying-ding-did-lum;
Walk squir'l, fer dat's de way.
Skip squir'l, ying-ding-did-lum;
Skip squir'l, all dress in gray.
Run squir'l! Ying-ding-did-lum!
Run squir'l! Oh, run away!
I cotch you squir'l! Ying-ding-did-lum!
I cotch you squir'l! Now stay, I say.
June 8. Story of the Day: Derby Ram
This version of the song comes from The Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire by Llewellynn Jewitt, and the song is famous enough to have its own article at Wikipedia, where you can find other versions of the lyrics.
The ram is now the city emblem of Derby! You can find out more about the city of Derby at Wikipedia.
The song is classified as Roud 126, and it is a chain-tale based on a series of body parts. You can hear the tune here in this version sung by Sweeney's Men, an Irish band:
Here is a picture of a statue of the ram in sculpted by Michael Pegler:
As I was going to Darby, Sir,
All on a market day,
I met the finest Ram, Sir,
That ever was fed on hay.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
This Ram was fat behind, Sir,
This Ram was fat before,
This Ram was ten yards high, Sir,
Indeed he was no more.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The Wool upon his back, Sir,
Reached up unto the sky,
The Eagles made their nests there, Sir,
For I heard the young ones cry.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The Wool upon his belly, Sir,
It dragged upon the ground,
It was sold in Darby town, Sir,
For forty thousand pound.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The space between his horns, Sir,
Was as far as a man could reach,
And there they built a pulpit
For the Parson there to preach.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The teeth that were in his mouth, Sir,
Were like a regiment of men;
And the tongue that hung between them, Sir,
Would have dined them twice and again.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
This Ram jumped o'er a wall, Sir,
His tail caught on a briar,
It reached from Darby town, Sir,
All into Leicestershire.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
And of this tail so long, Sir,
'Twas ten miles and an ell,
They made a goodly rope, Sir,
To toll the market bell.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
This Ram had four legs to walk on, Sir,
This Ram had four legs to stand,
And every leg he had, Sir,
Stood on an acre of land.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The Butcher that killed this Ram, Sir,
Was drownded in the blood,
And the boy that held the pail, Sir,
Was carried away in the flood,
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
All the maids in Darby, Sir,
Came begging for his horns,
To take them to coopers,
To make them milking gawns.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The little boys of Darby, Sir,
They came to beg his eyes,
To kick about the streets, Sir,
For they were football size.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The tanner that tanned its hide, Sir,
Would never be poor any more,
For when he had tanned and retched it,
It covered all Sinfin Moor.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The jaws that were in his head, Sir,
They were so fine and thin,
They were sold to a Methodist Parson,
For a pulpit to preach in.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
Indeed, Sir, this is true, Sir,
I never was taught to lie,
And had you been to Darby, Sir,
You'd have seen it as well as I.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
NOTES
Another version has—
"The Wool upon his back, Sir,
Was worth a thousand pound,
The Wool upon his belly, Sir,
It trailed upon the ground."
Another version says—
"And every time he shifted them,
He covered an acre of land."
Another version has—
"And all the people of Darby
Were carried away in the flood."
"Gawn" is a provincialism for pail,—a milk pail.
Football was essentially a Derby game, and was played every year, frequently with highly disastrous consequences, until put down by the authorities a few years back. On Shrove Tuesday business was entirely suspended, and the townspeople being divided into two parties, — All Saints and St. Peters,—the ball was, at noon, thrown from the Town Hall to the densely packed masses in the market-place, the two parties each trying to "goal" it at their respective places. The fight—for it was nothing less—continued for many hours, and sewers, brook-courses, and even rivers, were invaded, and scores of people who were fortunate enough not to get killed or lamed, were stripped of their clothing in the fray.
retched = Stretched,—i.e., fastened it down with pegs to dry.
Sinfin Moor is a few miles from Derby. It is a place where, in former times, Derby races were held. Another version says "Swinscoe Moor," which is in the neighbourhood of Ashborne.
I take it that this verse is a later addition to the song, put in,probably, by some singer who was antagonistic to Methodism. It does not appear in most of the versions I have collected.
Another version says—
"And if you go to Darby, Sir,
You may eat a bit of the pie."
CHAIN: back - belly - head - teeth - tail - legs - blood - horns - eyes - hide - jaws
The ram is now the city emblem of Derby! You can find out more about the city of Derby at Wikipedia.
The song is classified as Roud 126, and it is a chain-tale based on a series of body parts. You can hear the tune here in this version sung by Sweeney's Men, an Irish band:
Here is a picture of a statue of the ram in sculpted by Michael Pegler:
DERBY RAM
As I was going to Darby, Sir,
All on a market day,
I met the finest Ram, Sir,
That ever was fed on hay.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
This Ram was fat behind, Sir,
This Ram was fat before,
This Ram was ten yards high, Sir,
Indeed he was no more.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The Wool upon his back, Sir,
Reached up unto the sky,
The Eagles made their nests there, Sir,
For I heard the young ones cry.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The Wool upon his belly, Sir,
It dragged upon the ground,
It was sold in Darby town, Sir,
For forty thousand pound.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The space between his horns, Sir,
Was as far as a man could reach,
And there they built a pulpit
For the Parson there to preach.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The teeth that were in his mouth, Sir,
Were like a regiment of men;
And the tongue that hung between them, Sir,
Would have dined them twice and again.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
This Ram jumped o'er a wall, Sir,
His tail caught on a briar,
It reached from Darby town, Sir,
All into Leicestershire.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
And of this tail so long, Sir,
'Twas ten miles and an ell,
They made a goodly rope, Sir,
To toll the market bell.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
This Ram had four legs to walk on, Sir,
This Ram had four legs to stand,
And every leg he had, Sir,
Stood on an acre of land.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The Butcher that killed this Ram, Sir,
Was drownded in the blood,
And the boy that held the pail, Sir,
Was carried away in the flood,
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
All the maids in Darby, Sir,
Came begging for his horns,
To take them to coopers,
To make them milking gawns.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The little boys of Darby, Sir,
They came to beg his eyes,
To kick about the streets, Sir,
For they were football size.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The tanner that tanned its hide, Sir,
Would never be poor any more,
For when he had tanned and retched it,
It covered all Sinfin Moor.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
The jaws that were in his head, Sir,
They were so fine and thin,
They were sold to a Methodist Parson,
For a pulpit to preach in.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
Indeed, Sir, this is true, Sir,
I never was taught to lie,
And had you been to Darby, Sir,
You'd have seen it as well as I.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
NOTES
Another version has—
"The Wool upon his back, Sir,
Was worth a thousand pound,
The Wool upon his belly, Sir,
It trailed upon the ground."
Another version says—
"And every time he shifted them,
He covered an acre of land."
Another version has—
"And all the people of Darby
Were carried away in the flood."
"Gawn" is a provincialism for pail,—a milk pail.
Football was essentially a Derby game, and was played every year, frequently with highly disastrous consequences, until put down by the authorities a few years back. On Shrove Tuesday business was entirely suspended, and the townspeople being divided into two parties, — All Saints and St. Peters,—the ball was, at noon, thrown from the Town Hall to the densely packed masses in the market-place, the two parties each trying to "goal" it at their respective places. The fight—for it was nothing less—continued for many hours, and sewers, brook-courses, and even rivers, were invaded, and scores of people who were fortunate enough not to get killed or lamed, were stripped of their clothing in the fray.
retched = Stretched,—i.e., fastened it down with pegs to dry.
Sinfin Moor is a few miles from Derby. It is a place where, in former times, Derby races were held. Another version says "Swinscoe Moor," which is in the neighbourhood of Ashborne.
I take it that this verse is a later addition to the song, put in,probably, by some singer who was antagonistic to Methodism. It does not appear in most of the versions I have collected.
Another version says—
"And if you go to Darby, Sir,
You may eat a bit of the pie."
CHAIN: back - belly - head - teeth - tail - legs - blood - horns - eyes - hide - jaws
Talley. Jaybird Died with the Whooping Cough
From Negro Folk Rhymes by Thomas Talley.
This song is about a series of birds: it starts off with the birds who died from different diseases (jaybird/whooping-cough, sparrow/colic, bluebird/measles), but then it morphs into a dance party: the redbird announces the frolic, the crows dance with the weasels, and then come the mocking bird, the gray goose, and the thrasher bird, who happens to be the state bird of Georgia.
This bird-song is Roud 748. For bits and pieces of this song as attested throughout the southern states, see: Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore, volume 3, 153: The Jaybird. There are many versions of this song without the series of birds as in Talley; for more, see the Traditional Tune Archive: Jaybird Died of the Whooping Cough.
For another collection of birds in a song, see Roud 747: Bird Song.
De Jaybird died wid de Whoopin' Cough,
De Sparrer died wid de colic;
'Long come de Red-bird, skippin' 'round,
Sayin': "Boys, git ready fer de Frolic!"
De Jaybird died wid de Whoopin' Cough,
De Bluebird died wid de Measles;
'Long come a Nigger wid a fiddle on his back,
'Vitin' Crows fer to dance wid de Weasels.
Dat Mockin'-bird, he romp an' sing;
Dat ole Gray Goose come prancin'.
Dat Thrasher stuff his mouf wid plums,
Den he caper on down to de dancin'.
Dey hopped it low, an' dey hopped it high;
Dey hopped it to, an' dey hopped it by;
Dey hopped it fer, an' dey hopped it nigh;
Dat fiddle an' bow jes make 'em fly.
Here's the fun from Banjojukebox:
Someone made this recording of a thrasher bird singing:
This song is about a series of birds: it starts off with the birds who died from different diseases (jaybird/whooping-cough, sparrow/colic, bluebird/measles), but then it morphs into a dance party: the redbird announces the frolic, the crows dance with the weasels, and then come the mocking bird, the gray goose, and the thrasher bird, who happens to be the state bird of Georgia.
This bird-song is Roud 748. For bits and pieces of this song as attested throughout the southern states, see: Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore, volume 3, 153: The Jaybird. There are many versions of this song without the series of birds as in Talley; for more, see the Traditional Tune Archive: Jaybird Died of the Whooping Cough.
For another collection of birds in a song, see Roud 747: Bird Song.
De Jaybird died wid de Whoopin' Cough,
De Sparrer died wid de colic;
'Long come de Red-bird, skippin' 'round,
Sayin': "Boys, git ready fer de Frolic!"
De Jaybird died wid de Whoopin' Cough,
De Bluebird died wid de Measles;
'Long come a Nigger wid a fiddle on his back,
'Vitin' Crows fer to dance wid de Weasels.
Dat Mockin'-bird, he romp an' sing;
Dat ole Gray Goose come prancin'.
Dat Thrasher stuff his mouf wid plums,
Den he caper on down to de dancin'.
Dey hopped it low, an' dey hopped it high;
Dey hopped it to, an' dey hopped it by;
Dey hopped it fer, an' dey hopped it nigh;
Dat fiddle an' bow jes make 'em fly.
Here's the fun from Banjojukebox:
(thrasher)
Someone made this recording of a thrasher bird singing:
Talley. Ten Little Negroes
From Negro Folk Rhymes by Thomas Talley.
This counting-down song is Roud 13152.
Ten liddle Niggers, a-eatin', fat an' fine;
One choke hisse'f to death, an' dat lef' nine.
Nine liddle Niggers, dey sot up too late;
One sleep hisse'f to death, an' dat lef' eight.
Eight liddle Niggers want to go to Heaben;
One sing hisse'f to death, an' dat lef' seben.
Seben liddle Niggers, a-pickin' up sticks;
One wuk hisse'f to death, an' dat lef' six.
Six liddle Niggers went out fer to drive;
Mule run away wid one, an' dat lef' five.
Five liddle Niggers in a cold rain pour;
One coughed hisse'f to death, an' dat lef' four.
Four liddle Niggers, climb a' apple tree;
One fall down an' out, an' dat lef' three.
Three liddle Niggers a-wantin' sumpin new;
One, he quit de udders, an' dat lef' two.
Two liddle Niggers went out fer to run;
One fell down de bluff, an' dat lef' one.
One liddle Nigger, a-foolin' wid a gun;
Gun go off "bang!" an' dat lef' none.
THE END OF TEN LITTLE NEGROES
Ten liddle Niggers, a-eatin', fat an' fine;
One choke hisse'f to death, an' dat lef' nine.
Nine liddle Niggers, dey sot up too late;
One sleep hisse'f to death, an' dat lef' eight.
Eight liddle Niggers want to go to Heaben;
One sing hisse'f to death, an' dat lef' seben.
Seben liddle Niggers, a-pickin' up sticks;
One wuk hisse'f to death, an' dat lef' six.
Six liddle Niggers went out fer to drive;
Mule run away wid one, an' dat lef' five.
Five liddle Niggers in a cold rain pour;
One coughed hisse'f to death, an' dat lef' four.
Four liddle Niggers, climb a' apple tree;
One fall down an' out, an' dat lef' three.
Three liddle Niggers a-wantin' sumpin new;
One, he quit de udders, an' dat lef' two.
Two liddle Niggers went out fer to run;
One fell down de bluff, an' dat lef' one.
One liddle Nigger, a-foolin' wid a gun;
Gun go off "bang!" an' dat lef' none.
Talley. When I Was a Roustabout
From Negro Folk Rhymes by Thomas Talley.
W'en I wus a "Roustabout," wild an' young,
I co'ted my gal wid a mighty slick tongue.
I tōl' her some oncommon lies dere an' den.
I tōl' her dat we'd marry, but I didn' say w'en.
So on a Mond'y mornin' I tuck her fer my wife.
Of co'se I wus 'spectin' an agreeable life.
But on a Chuesd'y mornin' she chuned up her pipe,
An' she 'bused me more 'an I'd been 'bused all my life.
On a Wednesd'y evenin', as I come 'long home,
I says to myse'f dat she wus all my own;
An' on a Thursd'y night I went out to de woods,
An' I cut me two big fine tough leatherwoods.
So on a Frid'y mornin' w'en she roll me 'er eyes,
I retched fer my leatherwoods to give 'er a s'prise,
Dem long keen leatherwoods wuked mighty well,
An' 'er tongue, it jes rattle lak a clapper in a bell.
On a Sadd'y mornin' she sleep sorter late;
An' de las' time I see'd her, she 'us gwine out de gate.
I wus feedin' at de stable, lookin' out through a crack,
An' she lef' my log cabin 'fore I could git back.
On a Sund'y mornin', as I laid on my bed,
I didn' have no Nigger wife to bother my head.
Now whisky an' brandy jug's my biges' bes' friend,
An' my long week's wuk is about at its end.
This would be an example of ATU 2012 Days of the Week. You can also find it as Roud 433.
WHEN I WAS A "ROUSTABOUT"
W'en I wus a "Roustabout," wild an' young,
I co'ted my gal wid a mighty slick tongue.
I tōl' her some oncommon lies dere an' den.
I tōl' her dat we'd marry, but I didn' say w'en.
So on a Mond'y mornin' I tuck her fer my wife.
Of co'se I wus 'spectin' an agreeable life.
But on a Chuesd'y mornin' she chuned up her pipe,
An' she 'bused me more 'an I'd been 'bused all my life.
On a Wednesd'y evenin', as I come 'long home,
I says to myse'f dat she wus all my own;
An' on a Thursd'y night I went out to de woods,
An' I cut me two big fine tough leatherwoods.
So on a Frid'y mornin' w'en she roll me 'er eyes,
I retched fer my leatherwoods to give 'er a s'prise,
Dem long keen leatherwoods wuked mighty well,
An' 'er tongue, it jes rattle lak a clapper in a bell.
On a Sadd'y mornin' she sleep sorter late;
An' de las' time I see'd her, she 'us gwine out de gate.
I wus feedin' at de stable, lookin' out through a crack,
An' she lef' my log cabin 'fore I could git back.
On a Sund'y mornin', as I laid on my bed,
I didn' have no Nigger wife to bother my head.
Now whisky an' brandy jug's my biges' bes' friend,
An' my long week's wuk is about at its end.
June 3. Story of the Day: The Wife an her Kidie
This is a version of a "stubborn animal" story, and it is written in Scots. The source is Folk-Lore Journal, vol. 2 (1884; online at Hathi): "A Folk-Tale from Aberdeenshire" by Walter Gregor. You can find out more about the Scots language at Wikipedia.
The classification is ATU 2030. The Old Woman and her Pig. As often, the stubborn animal in question is not actually a pig but a little goat, "kidie" in Scots. See the author's note at the bottom of the post for an alternate ending to the story... in which things do not turn out well for the little goat!
Want more? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
There wiz a wifie, an she sweipit her hoosie clean an fair, an she fan twal pennies. An she geed till the market, an she bocht a kid.
An she said, "Kid, kid, rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again, till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the kid, "will I rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again; ye can dee't yersel."
An the wifie said to the dog, "Dog, dog, bite kid; kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the dog, "will I bite the kid; the kid niver did me ony ill."
"Stick, stick, ding dog. Dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the stick, "will I ding dog; dog niver did me ony ill."
"Fire, fire, burn stick; stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the fire, "will I burn the stick; the stick niver did me ony ill."
"Watter, watter, quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the watter, "will I quench fire; fire niver did me ony ill."
"Ox, ox, drink watter; watter winna quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the ox, "the watter niver did me ony ill."
"Aix, aix, kill ox; ox winna drink watter; watter watter winna quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the aix, "the ox niver did me ony ill."
"Smith, smith, smee aix; aix winna kill ox; ox winna drink watter; watter watter winna quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the smith, "the aix niver did me ony ill."
"Rope, rope, hang smith; smith winna smee aix; aix winna kill ox; ox winna drink watter; watter watter winna quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the rope, "the smith niver did me ony ill."
"Moosie, moosie, gnaw rope; rope winna hang smith; smith winna smee aix; aix winna kill ox; ox winna drink watter; watter watter winna quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
Noo, a' this time the cattie wiz sittin i' the ingle-neuk singin a sang till hersel.
So the wifie said, "Bonnie cattie, gin ye wud tak moosie, I wud gie you some fine milk an breed t' yersel."
So the cattie t' the moosie, an the moosie t' the rope, an the rope t' the smith, an the smith t' the aix, an the aix t' the ox, and the ox t' the watter, an the watter t' the fire, an the fire t' the stick, an the stick t' the dog, an the dog t' the kid, an the kid ran hame, leakit the hoose, an cam again till the wifie gedderit a puckle sticks till her fair fine.
NOTES
The following folk-tale has been communicated to me by Mr. James Moir, M.A. Rector of the Grammar School, Aberdeen. A form of it under the title of "The Wife and her Bush of Berries '' is given in Popular Rhymes of Scotland, pp. 57-59, by Robert Chambers (1870).
Another version of the ending is: An the kiddie ran ower the brig o' the waulk-mill an broke her neck.
CHAIN: kid - dog - stick - fire - water - ox - axe - smith - rope - mouse - cat
The classification is ATU 2030. The Old Woman and her Pig. As often, the stubborn animal in question is not actually a pig but a little goat, "kidie" in Scots. See the author's note at the bottom of the post for an alternate ending to the story... in which things do not turn out well for the little goat!
Want more? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
THE WIFE AN HER KIDIE
(Pixabay)
There wiz a wifie, an she sweipit her hoosie clean an fair, an she fan twal pennies. An she geed till the market, an she bocht a kid.
An she said, "Kid, kid, rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again, till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the kid, "will I rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again; ye can dee't yersel."
An the wifie said to the dog, "Dog, dog, bite kid; kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the dog, "will I bite the kid; the kid niver did me ony ill."
"Stick, stick, ding dog. Dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the stick, "will I ding dog; dog niver did me ony ill."
"Fire, fire, burn stick; stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the fire, "will I burn the stick; the stick niver did me ony ill."
"Watter, watter, quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the watter, "will I quench fire; fire niver did me ony ill."
"Ox, ox, drink watter; watter winna quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the ox, "the watter niver did me ony ill."
"Aix, aix, kill ox; ox winna drink watter; watter watter winna quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the aix, "the ox niver did me ony ill."
"Smith, smith, smee aix; aix winna kill ox; ox winna drink watter; watter watter winna quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the smith, "the aix niver did me ony ill."
"Rope, rope, hang smith; smith winna smee aix; aix winna kill ox; ox winna drink watter; watter watter winna quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
"Niver a lenth," said the rope, "the smith niver did me ony ill."
"Moosie, moosie, gnaw rope; rope winna hang smith; smith winna smee aix; aix winna kill ox; ox winna drink watter; watter watter winna quench fire; fire winna burn stick, stick winna ding dog, dog winna bite kid, kid winna rin hame, leuk the hoose, an come again till I gedder a puckle sticks to my fair firie."
Noo, a' this time the cattie wiz sittin i' the ingle-neuk singin a sang till hersel.
So the wifie said, "Bonnie cattie, gin ye wud tak moosie, I wud gie you some fine milk an breed t' yersel."
So the cattie t' the moosie, an the moosie t' the rope, an the rope t' the smith, an the smith t' the aix, an the aix t' the ox, and the ox t' the watter, an the watter t' the fire, an the fire t' the stick, an the stick t' the dog, an the dog t' the kid, an the kid ran hame, leakit the hoose, an cam again till the wifie gedderit a puckle sticks till her fair fine.
NOTES
The following folk-tale has been communicated to me by Mr. James Moir, M.A. Rector of the Grammar School, Aberdeen. A form of it under the title of "The Wife and her Bush of Berries '' is given in Popular Rhymes of Scotland, pp. 57-59, by Robert Chambers (1870).
Another version of the ending is: An the kiddie ran ower the brig o' the waulk-mill an broke her neck.
CHAIN: kid - dog - stick - fire - water - ox - axe - smith - rope - mouse - cat
June 2. Story of the Day: The Pugu's Case
This is a story from the Philippines, found in Fansler's Filipino Popular Tales.
It is classified as ATU 2042. Chain of Accidents. So, this is the first story from the Philippines that I have included in the project (there will be more!), and this is also the first example of this particular tale type (and there will be more!).
Want more? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
“Why, horse,” said the pugu (a small bird), “did you touch my eggs, so that now they are broken?”
“Because,” said the horse, “the cock crowed, and I was startled.”
“Why, cock,” said the pugu, “did you crow, so that the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”
“Because,” said the cock, “I saw the turtle carrying his house; that made me crow.”
“Why, turtle,” said the pugu, “did you carry your house with you, so that the cock crowed, and the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”
“Because,” said the turtle, “the firefly (alipatpat) was carrying fire, and I was afraid that he would burn my house.”
“Why, firefly,” said the pugu, “did you bring fire, so that the turtle was frightened and carried his house, and the cock crowed when he saw him, and the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”
“Because,” said the firefly, “the mosquito will sting me if I have no light.”
“Why, mosquito,” said the pugu, “did you try to sting the firefly, so that he had to carry fire, so that the turtle was frightened and carried his house, so that the cock laughed at the turtle, so that the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”
“Because,” said the mosquito, “Juan put up his mosquito-net, and there was nobody for me to sting except the firefly.”
“Why, Juan,” said the pugu, “did you put up your mosquito-net? The mosquito could not sting you, and tried to harm the firefly; the firefly brought fire; the turtle was frightened, and carried his house with him; the cock crowed when he saw the turtle; the horse was startled when he heard the cock, and broke my eggs.”
“Because,” said Juan, “I did not care to lose any blood.”
NOTES
Narrated by Bienvenido Tan of Manila, who got the story from Pampanga.
See Fansler's book for a detailed discussion about different variations he found of this story.
CHAIN: bird/eggs - horse - cock - turtle/house - firefly/fire - mosquito/net - Juan
It is classified as ATU 2042. Chain of Accidents. So, this is the first story from the Philippines that I have included in the project (there will be more!), and this is also the first example of this particular tale type (and there will be more!).
Want more? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
THE PUGU'S CASE
“Why, horse,” said the pugu (a small bird), “did you touch my eggs, so that now they are broken?”
“Because,” said the horse, “the cock crowed, and I was startled.”
“Why, cock,” said the pugu, “did you crow, so that the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”
“Because,” said the cock, “I saw the turtle carrying his house; that made me crow.”
“Why, turtle,” said the pugu, “did you carry your house with you, so that the cock crowed, and the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”
“Because,” said the turtle, “the firefly (alipatpat) was carrying fire, and I was afraid that he would burn my house.”
“Why, firefly,” said the pugu, “did you bring fire, so that the turtle was frightened and carried his house, and the cock crowed when he saw him, and the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”
“Because,” said the firefly, “the mosquito will sting me if I have no light.”
“Why, mosquito,” said the pugu, “did you try to sting the firefly, so that he had to carry fire, so that the turtle was frightened and carried his house, so that the cock laughed at the turtle, so that the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”
“Because,” said the mosquito, “Juan put up his mosquito-net, and there was nobody for me to sting except the firefly.”
“Why, Juan,” said the pugu, “did you put up your mosquito-net? The mosquito could not sting you, and tried to harm the firefly; the firefly brought fire; the turtle was frightened, and carried his house with him; the cock crowed when he saw the turtle; the horse was startled when he heard the cock, and broke my eggs.”
“Because,” said Juan, “I did not care to lose any blood.”
NOTES
Narrated by Bienvenido Tan of Manila, who got the story from Pampanga.
See Fansler's book for a detailed discussion about different variations he found of this story.
CHAIN: bird/eggs - horse - cock - turtle/house - firefly/fire - mosquito/net - Juan
Arkwright. Sir Roger is Dead
From the Journal of the Folk-Song Society.
Additional notes and music at Hathi Trust.
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.)
_(14565540320).jpg){kind=link}
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.)
See also Old Humpy.
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