1

Mess Parson Hogg shall now maintain,
The burden of my song, Sir,
A single life, perforce he led,
Of constitution strong, Sir.
Sing, tally-ho! sing, tally-ho!
Sing, tally-ho! why zounds, Sir,
He mounts his mare, to hunt the hare,
Sing tally-ho! the hounds, Sir.

2

And every day he goes to Mass,
He first draws on the boot, Sir,
That should the beagles chance to pass,
He might join in pursuit, Sir!
Sing tally-ho! &c.

3

That Parson little loveth prayer,
And Pater, night and morn, Sir,
For bell and book, hath little care
But dearly loves the horn, Sir.
Sing tally-ho! &c.

4

S. Stephen's Day, this holy man
He went a pair to wed, Sir,
When as the Service he began
Puss by the Church-yard sped, Sir.
Sing tally-ho! &c.

5

He shut his book, Come on, he said,
I'll pray and bless no more, Sir,
He drew his surplice o'er his head
And started for the door, Sir
Sing tally-ho! &c.

6

In pulpit Parson Hogg was strong,
He preached without a book, Sir,
And to the point, and never long,
And this the text he took, Sir,
"O tally-ho! O tally-ho!
Dearly beloved—zounds, Sir
I mount my mare to hunt the hare,
Singing tally-ho! the hounds, Sir!"

1

"Cold blows the wind of night, sweet-heart,
Cold are the drops of rain;
The very first love that ever I had,
In green-wood he was slain.

2

"I'll do as much for my true-love
As any fair maiden may;
I'll sit and mourn upon his grave
A twelvemonth and a day."

3

A twelvemonth and a day being up,
The ghost began to speak;
"Why sit you here by my grave-side
From dusk till dawning break?"

4

"O think upon the garden, love,
Where you and I did walk.
The fairest flower that blossomed there
Is withered on its stalk."

5

"What is it that you want of me,
And will not let me sleep?
Your salten tears they trickle down
My winding sheet to steep."

6

"Oh I will now redeem the pledge
The pledge that once I gave;
A kiss from off thy lily white lips
Is all of you I crave."

7

"Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,
My breath is earthy strong.
If you do touch my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long."

8

Then through the mould he heaved his head,
And through the herbage green.
There fell a frosted bramble leaf,
It came their lips between.

9

"Now if you were not true in word,
As now I know you be,
I'd tear you as the withered leaves,
Are torn from off the tree.

10

"And well for you that bramble-leaf
Betwixt our lips was flung.
The living to the living hold,
Dead to the dead belong."

1

In my garden grew plenty of Thyme,
It would flourish by night and by day;
O'er the wall came a lad, he took all that I had,
And stole my thyme away.

2

My garden with heartsease was bright,
The pansy so pied and so gay;
One slipped through the gate, and alas! cruel fate,
My heartsease took away.

3

My garden grew self-heal and balm,
And speedwell that's blue for an hour,
Then blossoms again, O grievous my pain!
I'm plundered of each flower.

4

There grows in my garden the rue,
And Love-lies-a-bleeding droops there,
The hyssop and myrrh, the teazle and burr,
In place of blossoms fair.

5

The willow with branches that weep,
The thorn and the cypress tree,
O why were the seeds of such dolorous weeds,
Thus scattered there by thee?

1

Young Jack he was a journey-man
That roved from town to town,
And when he'd done a job of work,
He lightly sat him down.
With his kit upon his shoulder, and
A grafting knife in hand,
He roved the country round about,
A merry journey-man.

2

And when he came to Exeter,
The maidens leaped for joy;
Said one and all, both short and tall,
Here comes a gallant boy.
The lady dropt her needle, and
The maid her frying-pan,
Each plainly told her mother, that
She loved the journey-man.

3

He had not been in Exeter,
The days were barely three,
Before the Mayor, his sweet daughter.
She loved him desperately;
She bid him to her mother's house,
She took him by the hand,
Said she, "My dearest mother, see
I love the journey-man!"

4

Now out on thee, thou silly maid!
Such folly speak no more:
How can'st thou love a roving man,
Thou ne'er hast seen before?
"O mother sweet, I do entreat,
I love him all I can;
Around the country glad I'll rove
With this young journey-man.

5

"He need no more to trudge afoot,
He'll travel coach and pair;
My wealth with me—or poverty
With him, content I'll share."
Now fill the horn with barleycorn,
And flowing fill the can:
Here let us toast the Mayor's daughter
And the roving journey-man.

1

All ye that love to hear
Music performed in air,
Pray listen, and give ear,
To what I shall perpend.
Concerning music, who'd,—
If rightly understood—
Not find 'twould do him good
To hearken and attend.

2

In Brixham town so rare
For singing sweet and fair,
Few can with us compare,
We bear away the bell.
Extolled up and down
By men of high renown,
We go from town to town;
And none can us excell.

3

There's a man in Brixham town
Of office, and in gown,
Strove to put singing down,
Which most of men adore.
For House of God unmeet,
The voice and organ sweet!
When pious men do meet,
To praise their God before.

4

Go question Holy writ,
And you will find in it,
That seemly 'tis and fit,
To praise and hymn the Lord.
On cymbal and on lute,
On organ and on flute,
With voices sweet, that suit;
All in a fair concord.

5

In Samuel you may read
How one was troubled,
Was troubled indeed,
Who crown and sceptre bore;
An evil spirit lay
On his mind both night and day,
That would not go away,
And vexed him very sore.

6

Then up and uttered one,
Said, "Jesse hath a son,
Of singers next to none;
David his name they say."
"So send for David, fleet,
To make me music sweet,
That the spirit may retreat,
And go from me away."

7

Now when that David, he
King Saul had come to see,
And playèd merrily.
Upon his stringèd harp,
The Devil in all speed,
With music ill agreed,
From Saul the King, he fleed,
Impatient to depart.

8

Now there be creatures three
As you may plainly see
With music can't agree
Upon this very earth
The swine, the fool, the ass,
And so we let it pass
And sing, O Lord, thy praise
Whilst we have breath.

9

So now, my friends, adieu!
I hope that all of you
Will pull most strong and true,
In strain to serve the Lord.
God prosper us, that we
Like angels may agree,
In singing merrily
In tune and in accord.

1

There was an old man lived out in the wood,
His trade was a-cutting of Broom, green Broom;
He had but one son without thrift, without good,
Who lay in his bed till 'twas noon, bright noon.

2

The old man awoke, one morning and spoke,
He swore he would fire the room, that room,
If his John would not rise and open his eyes,
And away to the wood to cut Broom, green Broom.

3

So Johnny arose, and he slipped on his clothes,
And away to the wood to cut Broom, green Broom,
He sharpened his knives, for once he contrives
To cut a great bundle of Broom, green Broom.

4

When Johnny passed under a lady's fine house,
Passed under a lady's fine room, fine room,
She called to her maid, "Go fetch me," she said,
"Go fetch me the boy that sells Broom, green Broom."

5

When Johnny came into the lady's fine house,
And stood in the lady's fine room, fine room,
"Young Johnny," she said, "Will you give up your trade,
And marry a lady in bloom, full bloom?"

6

Johnny gave his consent, and to church they both went,
And he wedded the lady in bloom, full bloom.
At market and fair, all folks do declare,
There is none like the Boy that sold Broom, green Broom.

1

As Johnny walked out one day
It was a summer morn,
Himself he laid beneath the shade
All of a twisted thorn,
And as he there lay lazily
A shepherdess pass'd by;
And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by.

2

"O have you seen a pretty ewe
That hath a tender lamb,
A strayed from the orchard glade
That little one and dam?"
"O pretty maid" he answered,
"They passed as here I lie!"
And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by.

3[6]

She wandered o'er the country wide
The sheep she could not find;
And many times she did upbraid
Young Johnny in her mind.
She sought in leafy forest green
She sought them low and high,
And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by.

4

"Oh silly maid," young Johnny said,
"Alone why did you seek?"
Her heart was full of anger, and
The flush was in her cheek.
"Where one alone availeth not,
There two your sheep may spie,
And 'tis down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by."

5

vThen lo! they both forgot their quest,
They found what neither sought,
Two loving hearts long kept apart
Together now were brought.
He found the words he long had lacked,
He found and held her eye;
And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by.

6[7]

Now married were this loving pair,
And joined in holy band,
No more they go a seeking sheep,
Together hand in hand.
Around her feet play children sweet,
Beneath the summer sky,
And 'tis down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by.

1

There was a miller, as you shall hear,
Long time he lived in Devonshire,
He was took sick and deadly ill,
And had no time to write his will!
He was took sick and deadly ill,
And had no time to write his will.

2

So he call'd up his eldest son,
Said he, "My glass is almost run.
If I to thee my mill shall give,
Tell me what toll thou'lt take to live?"

3

"Father," said he, "My name is Jack,
From every bushel I'll take a peck.
From every grist that I do grind,
That I may thus good living find."

4

"Thou art a fool," the old man said,
"Thou hast not half acquired thy trade.
My mill to thee I ne'er will give
For by such toll no man can live."

5

Then he call'd up his second son,
Said he, "My glass is almost run.
If I to thee my mill shall make,
Tell me what toll to live thou'lt take?"

6

"Father you know my name is Ralph,
From every bushel I'll take a half
From every grist that I do grind,
That I may thus a living find."

7

"Thou art a fool," the old man said;
"Thou hast not half acquired thy trade.
My mill to thee I will not give,
For by such toll no man may live."

8

Then he call'd up his youngest son,
Says he, "My glass is almost run.
If I to thee my mill shall make
Tell me what toll, to live, thou'lt take?"

9

"Father I am your youngest boy.
In taking toll is all my joy.
Before I would good living lack,
I'd take the whole—forswear the sack."

10

"Thou art the boy," the old man said,
"For thou hast full acquired the trade.
The mill is thine," the old man cried,
He laugh'd, gave up the ghost, and died.

1

I am Ormond the brave, did ye never hear of me?
Who lately was driven from my own country.
They tried me, condemned me, they plundered my estate,
For being so loyal to Queen Anne the Great,
Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know.

2

O to vict'ry I led, and I vanquished every foe,
Some do call me James Butler, I'm Ormond, you know,
I am Queen Anne's darling, and old England's delight,
A friend to the Church, in Fanatic's despite,
Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know.

3

Then awake Devon dogs, and arise you Cornish cats,
And follow me a chasing the Hanoverian rats,
They shall fly from the country, we'll guard the British throne,
Have no German electors with a king, sirs, of our own.
Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know.

4

O I wronged not my country as Scottish peers do,
Nor my soldiers defrauded, of that which is their due.
All such deeds I do abhor, by the powers that are above,
I've bequeath'd all my fortune to the country I love.
Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know.

1

There came three men from out the West
Their victory to try;
And they have ta'en a solemn oath,
Poor Barleycorn should die.
With a Ri-fol-lol-riddle-diddle-dol
Ri fol, ri fol dee.

2

They took a plough and ploughed him in,
Clods harrowed on his head;
And then they took a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
With a Ri-fol &c.

3

There he lay sleeping in the ground
Till rain did on him fall;
Then Barleycorn sprung up his head,
And so amazed them all.
With a Ri-fol &c.

4

There he remained till Midsummer
And look'd both pale and wan;
Then Barleycorn he got a beard
And so became a man.
With a Ri-fol &c.

5

Then they sent men with scythes so sharp
To cut him off at knee;
And then poor Johnny Barleycorn
They served most barbarouslie.
With a Ri-fol &c.

6

Then they sent men with pitch forks strong
To pierce him through the heart;
And like a doleful Tragedy
They bound him in a cart.
With a Ri-fol &c.

7

And then they brought him to a barn
A prisoner to endure;
And so they fetched him out again,
And laid him on the floor.
With a Ri-fol &c.

8

Then they set men with holly clubs,
To beat the flesh from th' bones;
But the miller served him worse than that
He ground him 'twixt two stones.
With a Ri-fol &c.

9

O! Barleycorn is the choicest grain
That 'ere was sown on land
It will do more than any grain,
By the turning of your hand.
With a Ri-fol &c.

10

It will make a boy into a man,
A man into an ass;
To silver it will change your gold,
Your silver into brass.
With a Ri-fol &c.

11

It will make the huntsman hunt the fox,
That never wound a horn;
It will bring the tinker to the stocks
That people may him scorn.
With a Ri-fol &c.

12

O! Barleycorn is th' choicest grain,
That e'er was sown on land.
And it will cause a man to drink
Till he neither can go nor stand.
With a Ri-fol &c.

1

My sweet-heart, come along.
Don't you hear the fond song
The sweet notes of the Nightingale flow?
Don't you hear the fond tale,
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below?

2

Pretty Betty, don't fail,
For I'll carry your pail
Safe home to your cot as we go;
You shall hear the fond tale
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.

3

Pray let me alone,
I have hands of my own,
Along with you Sir, I'll not go,
To hear the fond tale
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.

4

Pray sit yourself down
With me on the ground,
On this bank where the primroses grow,
You shall hear the fond tale
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.

5

The couple agreed,
And were married with speed,
And soon to the church they did go;
No more is she afraid
For to walk in the shade,
Nor sit in those valleys below.

1

"Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me your grey mare,
All along, down along, out along, lee.
For I want for to go to Widdecombe Fair,
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon,
Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all,"
CHORUS: Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.

2

"And when shall I see again my grey mare?"
All along, &c.
"By Friday soon, or Saturday noon,
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, &c."

3

Then Friday came, and Saturday noon,
All along, &c.
But Tom Pearce's old mare hath not trotted home,
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.

4

So Tom Pearce he got up to the top o' the hill
All along, &c.
And he seed his old mare down a making her will
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.

5

So Tom Pearce's old mare, her took sick and died.
All along, &c.
And Tom he sat down on a stone, and he cried
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.

6

But this isn't the end o' this shocking affair,
All along, &c.
Nor, though they be dead, of the horrid career
Of Bill Brewer, &c.

7

When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night
All along, &c.
Tom Pearce's old mare doth appear, gashly white,
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.

8

And all the long night be heard skirling and groans,
All along, &c.
From Tom Pearce's old mare in her rattling bones,
And from Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon,
Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.
CHORUS: Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.

1

Ye maidens pretty
In town and city,
I pray you pity
My mournful strain.
A maiden weeping,
Her night-watch keeping,
In grief unsleeping
Makes her complain:
In tower I languish
In cold and sadness,
Heart full of anguish,
Eye full of tear.
Whilst glades are ringing
With maidens singing,
Sweet roses bringing
To crown the year.

2

Thro' hills and vallies
Thro' shaded alleys,
And pleached palis—
Ading of grove;
Among fair bowers,
Midst fragrant flowers,
Pass sunny hours,
And sing of love.
In tower I languish, &c.

3

My cruel father
Gave straitest order,
By watch and warder,
I barr'd should be.
All in my chamber,
High out of danger,
From eye of ranger,
In misery.
In tower I languish, &c.

4

Enclosed in mortar,
By wall and water,
A luckless daughter
All white and wan;
Till day is breaking
My bed forsaking,
I all night waking
Sing like the swan.
In tower I languish,
In cold and sadness,
Heart full of anguish,
Eye full of tear,
Whilst glades are ringing
With maidens singing
Sweet roses bringing,
To crown the year.

1

Aw! Come now, I'll sing you a song,
'Tis a song of right merry intent,
Concerning a silly old man,
Who went for to pay his rent,
Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo.

2

And as this here silly old man,
Was riding along the lane,
A Gentleman thief overtook him,
Saying "Well over-taken old man."

3

"What! well over-taken, do'y say?"
"Yes, well over-taken," quoth he.
"No, no," said the silly old man.
"I don't want thy company.

4

"I am only a silly old man,
I farm but a parcel of ground.
And I am going to the landlord to pay,
My rent which is just forty pound."

5

"But supposing a highway-man stopped you?
For the rascals are many, men say,
And take all the money from off you
As you ride on the king's highway?"

6

"What! supposing some fellow should stop me?
Why badly the thief would be sped.
For the money I carry about me
In the quilt o' my saddle is hid."

7

And as they were riding along,
Along and along the green lane,
The Gentleman thief rode afore him
And summoned the old man to stand.

8

But the old man was crafty and cunning,
As, I wot, in the world there be many,
Pitched his saddle clean over the hedge,
Saying, "Fetch'n if thou would'st have any,"
Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo.

9

Then the thief being thirsty for gold,
And eager to get at his bags,
He dra'ed out his rusty old sword,
And chopped up the saddle to rags.

10

The old man slipped off his old mare,
And mounted the thief's horse astride,
Clapp'd spur, and put him in a gallop,
Saying "I, without teaching, can ride."

11

When he to his landlord's had come,
That old man was almost a-spent,
Says he, "Landlord, provide me a room.
I be come for to pay up my rent."

12

He opened the thief, his portmantle
And there was a sight to behold,
There were five hundred pounds in silver,
And five hundred pounds in gold.

13

And as he was on his way home,
And riding along the same lane,
He seed—his silly old mare,
Tied up to the hedge by the mane.

14

He loosed his old mare from the hedge,
As she of the grass there did crib,
He gi'ed her a whack o' the broad o' the back,
Saying "Follow me home, old Tib."

15

Aw! When to his home he were come
His daughter he dress'd like a duchess,
And his ol' woman kicked and she capered for joy,
And at Christmas danced jigs on her crutches.
Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo.

1

First comes January
When the sun lies very low;
I see in the farmer's yard
The cattle feed on stro';
The weather being so cold
While the snow lies on the ground,
There will be another change of moon
Before the year comes round.

2

Next is February,
So early in the spring;
The Farmer ploughs the fallows
The rooks their nests begin.
The little lambs appearing
Now frisk in pretty play.
I think upon the increase,
And thank my God, to-day.

3

March it is the next month,
So cold and hard and drear.
Prepare we now for harvest,
By brewing of strong beer.
God grant that we who labour,
May see the reaping come,
And drink and dance and welcome
The happy Harvest Home.

4

Next of Months is April,
When early in the morn
The cheery farmer soweth
To right and left the corn.
The gallant team come after,
A-smoothing of the land.
May Heaven the Farmer prosper
Whate'er he takes in hand.

5

In May I go a walking
To hear the linnets sing.
The blackbird and the throstle
A-praising God the King.
It cheers the heart to hear them
To see the leaves unfold,
The meadows scattered over
With buttercups of gold.

6

Full early in the morning
Awakes the summer sun,
The month of June arriving,
The cold and night are done,
The Cuckoo is a fine bird
She whistles as she flies,
And as she whistles, Cuckoo,
The bluer grow the skies.

7

Six months I now have named,
The seventh is July.
Come lads and lasses gather
The scented hay to dry,
All full of mirth and gladness
To turn it in the sun,
And never cease till daylight sets
And all the work is done.

8

August brings the harvest,
The reapers now advance,
Against their shining sickles
The field stands little chance.
Well done! exclaims the farmer.
This day is all men's friend.
We'll drink and feast in plenty
When we the harvest end.

9

By middle of September,
The rake is laid aside.
The horses wear the breeching
Rich dressing to provide,
All things to do in season,
Me-thinks is just and right.
Now summer season's over
The frosts begin at night.

10

October leads in winter.
The leaves begin to fall.
The trees will soon be naked
No flowers left at all.
The frosts will bite them sharply
The Elm alone is green.
In orchard piles of apples red
For cyder press are seen.

11

The eleventh month, November,
The nights are cold and long,
By day we're felling timber,
And spend the night in song.
In cozy chimney corner
We take our toast and ale,
And kiss and tease the maidens,
Or tell a merry tale.

12

Then comes dark December,
The last of months in turn.
With holly, box, and laurel,
We house and Church adorn.
So now, to end my story,
I wish you all good cheer.
A merry, happy Christmas,
A prosperous New Year.