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 typed: Roud. Show all posts
Showing posts with label typed: Roud. Show all posts
October 30. Story of the Day: A Man of Words
This version of the traditional rhyme comes from Negro Folk Rhymes by Thomas Talley.
This is Roud 19103: A Man of Words. You can compare a traditional British version from Lang's Nursery Rhymes, and also a children's game.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
A man o' words an' not o' deeds,
Is lak a gyarden full o' weeds.
De weeds 'gin to grow
Lak a gyarden full o' snow.
De snow 'gin to fly
Lak a eagle in de sky.
De sky 'gin to roar
Lak a hammer on yō' door.
De door 'gin to crack
Lak a hick'ry on yō' back.
Yō' back 'gin to smart
Lak a knife in yō' heart.
Yō' heart 'gin to fail
Lak a boat widout a sail.
De boat 'gin to sink
Lak a bottle full o' ink.
Dat ink, it won't write
Neider black nor white.
Dat man o' words an' not o' deeds,
Is lak a gyarden full o' weeds.
This is Roud 19103: A Man of Words. You can compare a traditional British version from Lang's Nursery Rhymes, and also a children's game.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
A MAN OF WORDS
A man o' words an' not o' deeds,
Is lak a gyarden full o' weeds.
De weeds 'gin to grow
Lak a gyarden full o' snow.
De snow 'gin to fly
Lak a eagle in de sky.
De sky 'gin to roar
Lak a hammer on yō' door.
De door 'gin to crack
Lak a hick'ry on yō' back.
Yō' back 'gin to smart
Lak a knife in yō' heart.
Yō' heart 'gin to fail
Lak a boat widout a sail.
De boat 'gin to sink
Lak a bottle full o' ink.
Dat ink, it won't write
Neider black nor white.
Dat man o' words an' not o' deeds,
Is lak a gyarden full o' weeds.
(photo by Mike Mozart)
October 28. Story of the Day: Keys of Canterbury,
This version of the song comes from The Nursery Rhyme Book edited by Andrew Lang.
It is classified as Roud 573: Keys of Canterbury.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
Oh, madam, I will give you the keys of Canterbury,
To set all the bells ringing when we shall be merry,
If you will but walk abroad with me,
If you will but walk with me.
Sir, I'll not accept of the keys of Canterbury,
To set all the bells ringing when we shall be merry;
Neither will I walk abroad with thee,
Neither will I talk with thee!
Oh, madam, I will give you a fine carved comb,
To comb out your ringlets when I am from home,
If you will but walk abroad with me,
If you will but walk with me.
Sir, I'll not accept a fine carved comb,
To comb out my ringlets when you are from home,
Neither will I walk abroad with thee,
Neither will I talk with thee!
Oh, madam, I will give you a pair of shoes of cork,
One made in London, the other made in York,
If you will but walk abroad with me,
If you will but walk with me.
Sir, I'll not accept a pair of shoes of cork,
One made in London, the other made in York,
Neither will I walk abroad with thee,
Neither will I talk with thee!
Madam, I will give you a sweet silver bell,
To ring up your maidens when you are not well,
If you will but walk abroad with me,
If you will but walk with me.
Sir, I'll not accept a sweet silver bell,
To ring up my maidens when I am not well,
Neither will I walk abroad with thee,
Neither will I talk with thee!
Oh, my man John, what can the matter be?
I love the lady and the lady loves not me!
Neither will she walk abroad with me,
Neither will she talk with me.
Oh, master dear, do not despair,
The lady she shall be, shall be your only dear;
And she will walk and talk with thee,
And she will walk with thee!
Oh, madam, I will give you the keys of my chest,
To count my gold and silver when I am gone to rest,
If you will but walk abroad with me,
If you will but talk with me.
Oh, sir, I will accept of the keys of your chest,
To count your gold and silver when you are gone to rest,
And I will walk abroad with thee,
And I will talk with thee!
It is classified as Roud 573: Keys of Canterbury.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
Oh, madam, I will give you the keys of Canterbury,
To set all the bells ringing when we shall be merry,
If you will but walk abroad with me,
If you will but walk with me.
Sir, I'll not accept of the keys of Canterbury,
To set all the bells ringing when we shall be merry;
Neither will I walk abroad with thee,
Neither will I talk with thee!
Oh, madam, I will give you a fine carved comb,
To comb out your ringlets when I am from home,
If you will but walk abroad with me,
If you will but walk with me.
Sir, I'll not accept a fine carved comb,
To comb out my ringlets when you are from home,
Neither will I walk abroad with thee,
Neither will I talk with thee!
Oh, madam, I will give you a pair of shoes of cork,
One made in London, the other made in York,
If you will but walk abroad with me,
If you will but walk with me.
Sir, I'll not accept a pair of shoes of cork,
One made in London, the other made in York,
Neither will I walk abroad with thee,
Neither will I talk with thee!
Madam, I will give you a sweet silver bell,
To ring up your maidens when you are not well,
If you will but walk abroad with me,
If you will but walk with me.
Sir, I'll not accept a sweet silver bell,
To ring up my maidens when I am not well,
Neither will I walk abroad with thee,
Neither will I talk with thee!
Oh, my man John, what can the matter be?
I love the lady and the lady loves not me!
Neither will she walk abroad with me,
Neither will she talk with me.
Oh, master dear, do not despair,
The lady she shall be, shall be your only dear;
And she will walk and talk with thee,
And she will walk with thee!
Oh, madam, I will give you the keys of my chest,
To count my gold and silver when I am gone to rest,
If you will but walk abroad with me,
If you will but talk with me.
Oh, sir, I will accept of the keys of your chest,
To count your gold and silver when you are gone to rest,
And I will walk abroad with thee,
And I will talk with thee!
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'.
October 2. Story of the Day: The Bird Song.
This song comes from Nursery Songs from the Appalachian Mountains by Cecil J. Sharp, with illustrations by Esther B. Mackinnon.
This is Roud 747.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
This is Roud 747.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
THE BIRD SONG
Hi! says the blackbird, sitting on a chair,
Once I courted a lady fair;
She proved fickle and turned her back,
And ever since then I'm dressed in black.
Hi! says the blue jay as she flew,
If I was a young man I'd have two;
If one proved fickle and chanced for to go,
I'd have a new string to my bow.
Hi! says the little leather winged bat,
I will tell you the reason that
The reason that I fly in the night
Is because I lost my heart's delight.
Hi! says the little mourning dove,
I'll tell you how to gain her love;
Court her night and court her day,
Never give her time to say “O mny.”
Hi! said the woodpecker sitting on a fence,
Once I courted a handsome wench;
She proved fickle and from me fled,
And ever since then my head's been red.
Hi! says the owl with my eyes so big,
If I had a hen I’d feed like a pig;
But here I sit on a frozen stake,
Which causes my poor heart to ache.
Hi! says the swallow, sitting in a barn,
Courting, I think, is no harm.
I pick my wings and sit up straight
And hope every young man will choose him a mate.
Hi! says the hawk unto the crow,
If you ain't black then I don't know.
Ever since old Adam was born,
You've been accused of stealing corn.
Hi! says the crow unto the hawk,
I understand your great big talk;
You'd like to pounce and catch a hen,
But I hope the farmer will shoot you then.
Hi! says the robin, with a little squirm,
I wish I had a great, big worm;
I would fly away into my nest;
I have a wife I think is the best.
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.
September 17. Story of the Day: Milking Pails
This is one of the games reported by Alice Bertha Gomme in The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland (volume 1).
The game-song is classified as Roud 3515.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
Mary's gone a-milking,
Mother, mother,
Mary's gone a-milking.
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Take your pails and go after her,
Daughter, daughter,
Take your pails and go after her,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine.
Buy me a pair of new milking pails,
Mother, mother,
Buy me a pair of new milking pails,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Where's the money to come from,
Daughter, daughter,
Where's the money to come from,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Sell my father's feather bed,
Mother, mother,
Sell my father's feather bed,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
What's your father to sleep on,
Daughter, daughter,
What's your father to sleep on.
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Put him in the truckle bed,
Mother, mother,
Put him in the truckle bed.
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
What are the children to sleep on,
Daughter, daughter,
What are the children to sleep on.
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Put them in the pig-sty.
Mother, mother,
Put them in the pig-sty,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
What are the pigs to lie in,
Daughter, daughter,
What are the pigs to he in.
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Put them in the washing-tubs,
Mother, mother,
Put them in the washing-tubs,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
What am I to wash in,
Daughter, daughter,
What am I to wash in,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Wash in the thimble,
Mother, mother,
Wash in the thimble,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Thimble won't hold your father's shirt,
Daughter, daughter,
Thimble won't hold your father's shirt,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine.
Wash in the river,
Mother, mother,
Wash in the river,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Suppose the clothes should blow away,
Daughter, daughter,
Suppose the clothes should blow away,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Set a man to watch them,
Mother, mother,
Set a man to watch them,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Suppose the man should go to sleep,
Daughter, daughter,
Suppose the man should go to sleep,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Take a boat and go after them,
Mother, mother,
Take a boat and go after them,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Suppose the boat should be upset,
Daughter, daughter,
Suppose the boat should be upset,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Then that would be an end of you,
Mother, mother,
Then that would be an end of you,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
NOTES
As sung by A. K. Goninie, London nursemaid, 1876.
[Gomme gives numerous versions and variations on these lyrics that you can read online.]
One child stands apart and personates the Mother. The other children form a line, holding hands and facing the Mother. They advance and retire singing the first, third, and alternate verses, while the Mother, in response, sings the second and alternate verses. While the last verse is being sung the children all run off; the Mother runs after them, catches them, and beats them. Either the first or last caught becomes Mother in next game.
In the Shropshire game the Mother should carry a stick.
In the Norfolk version the Mother sits on a form or bank, the other children advancing and retiring as they sing. After the last verse is sung the children try to seat themselves on the form or bank where the Mother has been sitting. If they can thus get home without the Mother catching them they are safe.
The Kentish game is played with two lines of children advancing and retiring. This was also the way in which the London version (A. B. Gomme) was played.
In the version sent by Mr. H. S. May a ring is formed by the children joining hands. One child stands in the centre — she represents the Mother. The ring of children say the first, third, and every alternate verse. The child in the centre says the second, fourth, and alternate verses, and the game is played as above, except that when the Mother has said the last verse the children call out, "Good job, too," and run off, the Mother chasing them as above. The game does not appear to be sung.
This game is somewhat of a cumulative story, having for its finish the making angry and tormenting of a mother. All the versions point to this.
One interesting point, that of milk-pails, is, it will be seen, gradually losing ground in the rhymes. Milk-pails were pails of wood suspended from a yoke worn on the milkmaid's shoulders, and these have been giving place to present-day milk-cans. Consequently we find in the rhymes only four versions in which milk-pails are used. In two versions even the sense of milking-can has been lost, and the South Shields version, sent me by little Miss Blair, has degenerated into "male-scales," a thoroughly meaningless phrase. The Cowes version (Miss Smith) has arrived at "wash-pan."
The "burden" of the Chirbury version is "a rea, a ria, a roses," and the Sheffield is also remarkable : the "I, O, OM " refers, probably, to something now forgotten, or it may be the "Hi, Ho, Ham!" familiar in many nursery rhymes.
The game seems to point to a period some time back, when milking was an important phase of the daily life, or perhaps to the time when it was customary for the maids and women of a village to go to the hilly districts with the cows (summer shealings) for a certain period of time.
The references to domestic life are interesting. The scarcity of beds, the best or feather bed, and the children's bed, seeming to be all those available. The feather bed is still a valued piece of household furniture, and is considered somewhat of the nature of a heirloom, feather beds often descending from mother to daughter for some generations. I have been told instances of this.
Gregor, in Folk-lore of East of Scotland, p. 52, describes the Scottish box-bed. The "truckle bed " and "footman's bed " probably refers to the small bed under a large one, which was only pulled out at night for use, and pushed under during the day. Illustrations of these beds and the children's bed are given in old tales.
The proximity of the pig-sty to the house is manifest.
The mention of washing-tubs calls to mind the large wooden tubs formerly always used for the family wash, Before the era of laundresses washing-tubs must have constituted an important part of the family plenishing. Washing in the rivers and streams was also a thing of frequent occurrence, hot water for the purpose of cleansing clothes not being considered necessary, or in many cases desirable.
Chambers gives a version of the game (Popular Rhymes, p. 36) and also Newell (Games, p. 166). Another version from Buckingham is given by Thomas Baker in the Midland Garner, 1st series, ii. 32, in which the mother desires the daughter to "milk in the washing-tub," and the words also appear very curiously tacked on to the "Three Dukes a-riding game from Berkshire (Antiquary, xxvii. 195), where they are very much out of place.
The game-song is classified as Roud 3515.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
Mary's gone a-milking,
Mother, mother,
Mary's gone a-milking.
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Take your pails and go after her,
Daughter, daughter,
Take your pails and go after her,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine.
Buy me a pair of new milking pails,
Mother, mother,
Buy me a pair of new milking pails,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Where's the money to come from,
Daughter, daughter,
Where's the money to come from,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Sell my father's feather bed,
Mother, mother,
Sell my father's feather bed,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
What's your father to sleep on,
Daughter, daughter,
What's your father to sleep on.
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Put him in the truckle bed,
Mother, mother,
Put him in the truckle bed.
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
What are the children to sleep on,
Daughter, daughter,
What are the children to sleep on.
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Put them in the pig-sty.
Mother, mother,
Put them in the pig-sty,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
What are the pigs to lie in,
Daughter, daughter,
What are the pigs to he in.
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Put them in the washing-tubs,
Mother, mother,
Put them in the washing-tubs,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
What am I to wash in,
Daughter, daughter,
What am I to wash in,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Wash in the thimble,
Mother, mother,
Wash in the thimble,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Thimble won't hold your father's shirt,
Daughter, daughter,
Thimble won't hold your father's shirt,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine.
Wash in the river,
Mother, mother,
Wash in the river,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Suppose the clothes should blow away,
Daughter, daughter,
Suppose the clothes should blow away,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Set a man to watch them,
Mother, mother,
Set a man to watch them,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Suppose the man should go to sleep,
Daughter, daughter,
Suppose the man should go to sleep,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Take a boat and go after them,
Mother, mother,
Take a boat and go after them,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
Suppose the boat should be upset,
Daughter, daughter,
Suppose the boat should be upset,
Gentle sweet daughter o' mine?
Then that would be an end of you,
Mother, mother,
Then that would be an end of you,
Gentle sweet mother o' mine.
NOTES
As sung by A. K. Goninie, London nursemaid, 1876.
[Gomme gives numerous versions and variations on these lyrics that you can read online.]
One child stands apart and personates the Mother. The other children form a line, holding hands and facing the Mother. They advance and retire singing the first, third, and alternate verses, while the Mother, in response, sings the second and alternate verses. While the last verse is being sung the children all run off; the Mother runs after them, catches them, and beats them. Either the first or last caught becomes Mother in next game.
In the Shropshire game the Mother should carry a stick.
In the Norfolk version the Mother sits on a form or bank, the other children advancing and retiring as they sing. After the last verse is sung the children try to seat themselves on the form or bank where the Mother has been sitting. If they can thus get home without the Mother catching them they are safe.
The Kentish game is played with two lines of children advancing and retiring. This was also the way in which the London version (A. B. Gomme) was played.
In the version sent by Mr. H. S. May a ring is formed by the children joining hands. One child stands in the centre — she represents the Mother. The ring of children say the first, third, and every alternate verse. The child in the centre says the second, fourth, and alternate verses, and the game is played as above, except that when the Mother has said the last verse the children call out, "Good job, too," and run off, the Mother chasing them as above. The game does not appear to be sung.
This game is somewhat of a cumulative story, having for its finish the making angry and tormenting of a mother. All the versions point to this.
One interesting point, that of milk-pails, is, it will be seen, gradually losing ground in the rhymes. Milk-pails were pails of wood suspended from a yoke worn on the milkmaid's shoulders, and these have been giving place to present-day milk-cans. Consequently we find in the rhymes only four versions in which milk-pails are used. In two versions even the sense of milking-can has been lost, and the South Shields version, sent me by little Miss Blair, has degenerated into "male-scales," a thoroughly meaningless phrase. The Cowes version (Miss Smith) has arrived at "wash-pan."
The "burden" of the Chirbury version is "a rea, a ria, a roses," and the Sheffield is also remarkable : the "I, O, OM " refers, probably, to something now forgotten, or it may be the "Hi, Ho, Ham!" familiar in many nursery rhymes.
The game seems to point to a period some time back, when milking was an important phase of the daily life, or perhaps to the time when it was customary for the maids and women of a village to go to the hilly districts with the cows (summer shealings) for a certain period of time.
The references to domestic life are interesting. The scarcity of beds, the best or feather bed, and the children's bed, seeming to be all those available. The feather bed is still a valued piece of household furniture, and is considered somewhat of the nature of a heirloom, feather beds often descending from mother to daughter for some generations. I have been told instances of this.
Gregor, in Folk-lore of East of Scotland, p. 52, describes the Scottish box-bed. The "truckle bed " and "footman's bed " probably refers to the small bed under a large one, which was only pulled out at night for use, and pushed under during the day. Illustrations of these beds and the children's bed are given in old tales.
The proximity of the pig-sty to the house is manifest.
The mention of washing-tubs calls to mind the large wooden tubs formerly always used for the family wash, Before the era of laundresses washing-tubs must have constituted an important part of the family plenishing. Washing in the rivers and streams was also a thing of frequent occurrence, hot water for the purpose of cleansing clothes not being considered necessary, or in many cases desirable.
Chambers gives a version of the game (Popular Rhymes, p. 36) and also Newell (Games, p. 166). Another version from Buckingham is given by Thomas Baker in the Midland Garner, 1st series, ii. 32, in which the mother desires the daughter to "milk in the washing-tub," and the words also appear very curiously tacked on to the "Three Dukes a-riding game from Berkshire (Antiquary, xxvii. 195), where they are very much out of place.
September 16. Story of the Day: Aiken Drum
This sone comes from A Book of Nursery Songs and Rhymes by Sabine Baring-Gould.
This is Roud 2571. See Chalmers' Popular Rhymes of Scotland for another version and with music (online at Hathi).
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
This is Roud 2571. See Chalmers' Popular Rhymes of Scotland for another version and with music (online at Hathi).
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
There was a man lived in the moon,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
And he played upon a ladle,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
And his hat was made of good cream cheese,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
And he played upon a ladle,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
And his coat was made of good roast beef,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
And he played upon a ladle,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
And his buttons were made of penny loaves,
AAnd his name was Aiken Drum.
And he played upon a ladle,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
His waistcoat was made of crusts of pies,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
And he played upon a ladle,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
His breeches were made of haggis bags,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
And he played upon a ladle,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
There was a man in another town,
And his name was Willy Wood,
And he played upon a razor,
And his name was Willy Wood.
And he ate up all the good cream cheese,
And his name was Willy Wood,
And he played upon a razor,
And his name was Willy Wood.
And he ate up all the good roast beef,
And his name was Willy Wood,
And he played upon a razor,
And his name was Willy Wood.
And he ate up all the penny loaves,
And his name was Willy Wood,
And he played upon a razor,
And his name was Willy Wood.
And he ate up all the crusts of pies,
And his name was Willy Wood,
And he played upon a razor,
And his name was Willy Wood.
But he choked himself with the haggis bags,
And there was an end of Willy Wood.
August 29. Story of the Day: St. Ives
This is a fun little riddle/rhyme from The Nursery Rhyme Book edited by Andrew Lang. You can find out more at Wikipedia.
The rhyme is classified as Roud 19772.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives;
Every wife had seven sacks,
Every sack had seven cats,
Every cat had seven kits:
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives.
How many were there going to St. Ives?
The rhyme is classified as Roud 19772.
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
AS I WAS GOING TO ST. IVES
As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives;
Every wife had seven sacks,
Every sack had seven cats,
Every cat had seven kits:
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives.
How many were there going to St. Ives?
August 25. Story of the Day: Bought Me a Wife
This animal-sound series is from the Negro Folk Rhymes by Thomas Talley.
This is Roud 544. For a cumulative version of this song, see The Barnyard Song. It would be easy to make a cumulative version of these lyrics too!
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
Bought me a wife an' de wife please me,
I feeds my wife un'er yon'er tree.
My wife go: "Row-row!"
My guinea go: "Potrack! Potrack!"
My chicken go: "Gymsack! Gymsack!"
My duck go: "Quack-quack! Quack-quack!"
My dog go: "Bow-bow!"
My hoss go: "Whee-whee! Whee-whee!"
My cat go: "Fiddle-toe! Fiddle-toe!"
This is Roud 544. For a cumulative version of this song, see The Barnyard Song. It would be easy to make a cumulative version of these lyrics too!
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
BOUGHT ME A WIFE
Bought me a wife an' de wife please me,
I feeds my wife un'er yon'er tree.
My wife go: "Row-row!"
My guinea go: "Potrack! Potrack!"
My chicken go: "Gymsack! Gymsack!"
My duck go: "Quack-quack! Quack-quack!"
My dog go: "Bow-bow!"
My hoss go: "Whee-whee! Whee-whee!"
My cat go: "Fiddle-toe! Fiddle-toe!"
August 23. Story of the Day: The Farmer in the Dell
This famous children's song is documented in the Games and Songs of American Children by William Wells Newell. For variations from different countries, see Wikipedia.
This is Roud 6306. The "cheese stands alone" makes sense in the context of the game played with this song!
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
A single child stands in the center of the ring, which sings:
The farmer in the dell,
The farmer in the dell,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The farmer in the dell.
The first child chooses and places beside himself a second, then a third, and so on, while the rest sing to the same tune:
The farmer takes the wife,
The farmer takes the wife,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The farmer takes the wife.
The wife takes the child,
The wife takes the child,
The child takes the nurse,
The child takes the nurse,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The child takes the nurse.
The nurse takes the dog,
The nurse takes the dog,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The dog takes the cat,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The dog takes the cat.
The cat takes the rat,
The cat takes the rat,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The cat takes the rat.
The rat takes the cheese,
The rat takes the cheese,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The rat takes the cheese.
The cheese stands alone,
The cheese stands alone,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The cheese stands alone.
The "cheese" is clapped out, and must being again as the "farmer."
Streets of New York.
This is Roud 6306. The "cheese stands alone" makes sense in the context of the game played with this song!
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
THE FARMER IN THE DELL
A single child stands in the center of the ring, which sings:
The farmer in the dell,
The farmer in the dell,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The farmer in the dell.
The first child chooses and places beside himself a second, then a third, and so on, while the rest sing to the same tune:
The farmer takes the wife,
The farmer takes the wife,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The farmer takes the wife.
The wife takes the child,
The wife takes the child,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The wife takes the child.
The child takes the nurse,
The child takes the nurse,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The child takes the nurse.
The nurse takes the dog,
The nurse takes the dog,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The nurse takes the dog.
The dog takes the cat,The dog takes the cat,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The dog takes the cat.
The cat takes the rat,
The cat takes the rat,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The cat takes the rat.
The rat takes the cheese,
The rat takes the cheese,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The rat takes the cheese.
The cheese stands alone,
The cheese stands alone,
Heigh ho! for Rowley O!
The cheese stands alone.
The "cheese" is clapped out, and must being again as the "farmer."
Streets of New York.
August 15. Story of the Day: John Ball
I first found this cumulative rhyme in Stories Children Love by Charles Welsh. It is classified as Roud 20206.
Halliwell is willing to speculate (reference) that the John Ball referred to here is the same John Ball of the 14th-century Peasant Rebellion; that doesn't seem likely to me, but, as often with the old nursery rhymes, who's to say?
What is more certain is that the modern children's book Drummer Hoff was inspired by this rhyme; you can read about that here in the Wikipedia article: "Ed Emberley explained that the book was adapted from the rhyme John Ball Shot Them All." And here's an excerpt from Emberley's Caldecott acceptance speech:
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
John Ball shot them all.
John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
John Brammer made the rammer,
And John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
John Wyming made the priming,
And John Brammer made the rammer,
And John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
John Block made the stock,
And John Brammer made the rammer,
And John Wyming made the priming,
And John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
John Crowder made the powder,
And John Block made the stock,
And John Wyming made the priming,
And John Brammer made the rammer,
And John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
John Puzzle made the muzzle,
And John Crowder made the powder,
And John Block made the stock,
And John Wyming made the priming,
And John Brammer made the rammer,
And John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
What is more certain is that the modern children's book Drummer Hoff was inspired by this rhyme; you can read about that here in the Wikipedia article: "Ed Emberley explained that the book was adapted from the rhyme John Ball Shot Them All." And here's an excerpt from Emberley's Caldecott acceptance speech:
John Ball shooting them all did not seem an appropriate ending to the tale, and so the refrain was changed to "Drummer Hoff fired it off."(Ed Emberley did the illustrations, and his wife, Barbara, wrote the text.)
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
John Brammer made the rammer,
And John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
John Wyming made the priming,
And John Brammer made the rammer,
And John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
John Block made the stock,
And John Brammer made the rammer,
And John Wyming made the priming,
And John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
John Crowder made the powder,
And John Block made the stock,
And John Wyming made the priming,
And John Brammer made the rammer,
And John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
John Puzzle made the muzzle,
And John Crowder made the powder,
And John Block made the stock,
And John Wyming made the priming,
And John Brammer made the rammer,
And John Scott made the shot,
But John Ball shot them all.
July 8. Story of the Day: Rattlin' Bog
Today's story is one you can sing along with (see music video at bottom of post).
The lyrics are from a a version of this traditional Irish folksong that I found in Hi! ho! The rattlin' bog, and other folk songs by John Langstaff (1969). You can find out more about "The Rattlin' Bog" at Wikipedia.
This is Roud 129, which also includes the song Green Grass Grew All Around; you can find a fun discussion of this song type, and "Rattlin' Bog" in particular, at Mudcat. I like the "rattling bog" version very much; the word "rattling" means "something very good of its kind (used for emphasis)."
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now in this bog,
there was a tree,
a rare tree, a rattlin' tree;
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now on this tree,
there was a limb,
a rare limb, a rattlin' limb;
The limb on the tree,
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now on this limb,
there was a branch,
a rare branch, a rattlin' branch;
The branch on the limb,
The limb on the tree,
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now on this branch,
there was a nest,
a rare nest, a rattlin' nest;
The nest on the branch,
The branch on the limb,
The limb on the tree,
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now in this nest,
there was a egg,
a rare egg, a rattlin' egg;
The egg in the nest,
The nest on the branch,
The branch on the limb,
The limb on the tree,
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now in this egg,
there was a bird,
a rare bird, a rattlin' bird;
The bird in the egg,
The egg in the nest,
The nest on the branch,
The branch on the limb,
The limb on the tree,
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
You will find lots of music videos at YouTube; here's one I liked by Rula Bula:
The lyrics are from a a version of this traditional Irish folksong that I found in Hi! ho! The rattlin' bog, and other folk songs by John Langstaff (1969). You can find out more about "The Rattlin' Bog" at Wikipedia.
This is Roud 129, which also includes the song Green Grass Grew All Around; you can find a fun discussion of this song type, and "Rattlin' Bog" in particular, at Mudcat. I like the "rattling bog" version very much; the word "rattling" means "something very good of its kind (used for emphasis)."
Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now in this bog,
there was a tree,
a rare tree, a rattlin' tree;
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now on this tree,
there was a limb,
a rare limb, a rattlin' limb;
The limb on the tree,
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now on this limb,
there was a branch,
a rare branch, a rattlin' branch;
The branch on the limb,
The limb on the tree,
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now on this branch,
there was a nest,
a rare nest, a rattlin' nest;
The nest on the branch,
The branch on the limb,
The limb on the tree,
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now in this nest,
there was a egg,
a rare egg, a rattlin' egg;
The egg in the nest,
The nest on the branch,
The branch on the limb,
The limb on the tree,
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
Now in this egg,
there was a bird,
a rare bird, a rattlin' bird;
The bird in the egg,
The egg in the nest,
The nest on the branch,
The branch on the limb,
The limb on the tree,
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-O!
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O,
Hi! Ho! The rattlin' bog and the bog down in the valley-O.
You will find lots of music videos at YouTube; here's one I liked by Rula Bula:
Talley. Frog Went A-Courtin'
From Negro Folk Rhymes by Thomas Talley.
This is Roud 16: Froggy's Courting.
De frog went a-co'tin', he did ride. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De frog went a-co'tin', he did ride
Wid a sword an' a pistol by 'is side. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
He rid up to Miss Mousie's dō'. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
He rid up to Miss Mousie's dō',
Whar he'd of'en been befō. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Says he: "Miss Mousie, is you in?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Says he: "Miss Mousie, is you in?"
"Oh yes, Sugar Lump! I kyard an' spin." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
He tuck dat Mousie on his knee. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
He tuck dat Mousie on his knee,
An' he say: "Dear Honey, marry me!" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"Oh Suh!" she say, "I cain't do dat." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"Oh Suh!" she say, "I cain't do dat,
Widout de sayso o' uncle Rat." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat ole gray Rat, he soon come home. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat ole gray Rat, he soon come home,
Sayin': "Whose been here since I'se been gone?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"A fine young gemmun fer to see." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"A fine young gemmun fer to see,
An' one dat axed fer to marry me." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat Rat jes laugh to split his side. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat Rat jes laugh to split his side.
"Jes think o' Mousie's bein' a bride!" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Nex' day, dat rat went down to town. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Nex' day dat rat went down to town,
To git up de Mousie's Weddin' gown. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What's de bes' thing fer de Weddin' gown?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What's de bes' thing fer de Weddin' gown?"—
"Dat acorn hull, all gray an' brown!" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"Whar shall de Weddin' Infar' be?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"Whar shall de Weddin' Infar' be?"—
"Down in de swamp in a holler tree." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What shall de Weddin' Infar' be?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What shall de Weddin' Infar' be?"—
"Two brown beans an' a blackeyed pea." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Fust to come in wus de Bumblebee. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Fust to come in wus de Bumblebee.
Wid a fiddle an' bow across his knee. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' dat come wus Khyernel Wren. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' dat come wus Khyernel Wren,
An' he dance a reel wid de Turkey Hen. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' dat come wus Mistah Snake. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' dat come wus Mistah Snake,
He swallowed de whole weddin' cake! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' come in wus Cap'n Flea. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' come in wus Cap'n Flea,
An' he dance a jig fer de Bumblebee. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
An' now come in ole Giner'l Louse. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
An' now come in ole Giner'l Louse.
He dance a breakdown 'round de house. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' to come wus Major Tick. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' to come wus Major Tick,
An' he e't so much it make 'im sick. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dey sent fer Mistah Doctah Fly. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dey sent fer Mistah Doctah Fly.
Says he: "Major Tick, you's boun' to die." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Oh, den crep' in ole Mistah Cat. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Oh, den crep' in ole Mistah Cat,
An' chilluns, dey all hollered, "Scat!!" Uh-huh!!! Uh-huh!!!
It give dat frog a turble fright. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
It give dat frog a turble fright,
An' he up an' say to dem, "Good-night!" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat frog, he swum de lake aroun'. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat frog, he swum de lake aroun',
An' a big black duck come gobble 'im down. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What d'you say 'us Miss Mousie's lot?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What d'you say 'us Miss Mousie's lot?"—
"W'y—, she got swallered on de spot!" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Now, I don't know no mō' 'an dat. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Now, I don't know no mō' 'an dat.
If you gits mō' you can take my hat. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
An' if you thinks dat hat won't do. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
An' if you thinks dat hat won't do,
Den you mought take my head 'long, too. Uh-huh!!! Uh-huh!!!
This is Roud 16: Froggy's Courting.
FROG WENT A-COURTING
De frog went a-co'tin', he did ride. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De frog went a-co'tin', he did ride
Wid a sword an' a pistol by 'is side. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
He rid up to Miss Mousie's dō'. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
He rid up to Miss Mousie's dō',
Whar he'd of'en been befō. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Says he: "Miss Mousie, is you in?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Says he: "Miss Mousie, is you in?"
"Oh yes, Sugar Lump! I kyard an' spin." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
He tuck dat Mousie on his knee. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
He tuck dat Mousie on his knee,
An' he say: "Dear Honey, marry me!" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"Oh Suh!" she say, "I cain't do dat." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"Oh Suh!" she say, "I cain't do dat,
Widout de sayso o' uncle Rat." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat ole gray Rat, he soon come home. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat ole gray Rat, he soon come home,
Sayin': "Whose been here since I'se been gone?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"A fine young gemmun fer to see." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"A fine young gemmun fer to see,
An' one dat axed fer to marry me." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat Rat jes laugh to split his side. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat Rat jes laugh to split his side.
"Jes think o' Mousie's bein' a bride!" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Nex' day, dat rat went down to town. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Nex' day dat rat went down to town,
To git up de Mousie's Weddin' gown. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What's de bes' thing fer de Weddin' gown?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What's de bes' thing fer de Weddin' gown?"—
"Dat acorn hull, all gray an' brown!" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"Whar shall de Weddin' Infar' be?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"Whar shall de Weddin' Infar' be?"—
"Down in de swamp in a holler tree." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What shall de Weddin' Infar' be?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What shall de Weddin' Infar' be?"—
"Two brown beans an' a blackeyed pea." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Fust to come in wus de Bumblebee. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Fust to come in wus de Bumblebee.
Wid a fiddle an' bow across his knee. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' dat come wus Khyernel Wren. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' dat come wus Khyernel Wren,
An' he dance a reel wid de Turkey Hen. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' dat come wus Mistah Snake. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' dat come wus Mistah Snake,
He swallowed de whole weddin' cake! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' come in wus Cap'n Flea. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' come in wus Cap'n Flea,
An' he dance a jig fer de Bumblebee. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
An' now come in ole Giner'l Louse. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
An' now come in ole Giner'l Louse.
He dance a breakdown 'round de house. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' to come wus Major Tick. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
De nex' to come wus Major Tick,
An' he e't so much it make 'im sick. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dey sent fer Mistah Doctah Fly. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dey sent fer Mistah Doctah Fly.
Says he: "Major Tick, you's boun' to die." Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Oh, den crep' in ole Mistah Cat. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Oh, den crep' in ole Mistah Cat,
An' chilluns, dey all hollered, "Scat!!" Uh-huh!!! Uh-huh!!!
It give dat frog a turble fright. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
It give dat frog a turble fright,
An' he up an' say to dem, "Good-night!" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat frog, he swum de lake aroun'. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Dat frog, he swum de lake aroun',
An' a big black duck come gobble 'im down. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What d'you say 'us Miss Mousie's lot?" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
"What d'you say 'us Miss Mousie's lot?"—
"W'y—, she got swallered on de spot!" Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Now, I don't know no mō' 'an dat. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
Now, I don't know no mō' 'an dat.
If you gits mō' you can take my hat. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
An' if you thinks dat hat won't do. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
An' if you thinks dat hat won't do,
Den you mought take my head 'long, too. Uh-huh!!! Uh-huh!!!
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.
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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