1

A ship came sailing over the sea
As deeply laden as she could be;
My sorrows fill me to the brim,
I care not if I sink or swim.

2[25]

Ten thousand ladies in the room,
But my true love's the fairest bloom,
Of stars she is my brightest sun,
I said I would have her or none.

3

I leaned my back against an oak,
But first it bent and then it broke,
Untrusty as I found that tree,
So did my love prove false to me.

4

Down in a mead the other day,
As carelessly I went my way,
And plucked flowers red and blue,
I little thought what love could do.

5

I saw a Rose with ruddy blush,
And thrust my hand into the bush,
I pricked my fingers to the bone,
I would I'd left that rose alone!

6

I wish! I wish! but 'tis in vain,
I wish I had my heart again!
With silver chain and diamond locks,
I'd fasten it in a golden box.

1

I toss my cap up into the air,
And away whil'st all are sleeping,
The host may swear, and the hostess stare,
And the pretty maids be weeping:
There is never a place that I do grace,
Which a second time shall see my face;
For I travel the world from place to place,
And still am a Rambling Sailor.

2

O when I come to London town,
Or enter any city,
I settle down at the Bell or Crown,
And court each lass that's pretty.
And I say, "My dear, be of good cheer,
I'll never depart, you need not fear!"
But I traveled the country far and near
And still am a Rambling Sailor.

3

And if that you would know my name,
I've any that you fancy,
'Tis never the same, as I change my flame,
From Bet, to Joan, or Nancy.
I court maids all, marry none at all,
My heart is round, and rolls as a ball,
And I travel the land from Spring to Fall,
And still am a Rambling Sailor.

1

'Twas in the month of May, when flowers spring,
When pretty lambkins play, and thrushes sing.
When young men do resort
To walk about in sport
Not thinking any harm, at Crantock games.

2

Crantock and Newlyn men, all in one room,
The first mark that was made, it proved my doom.
My name is Willy Coombe,
Just twenty, in my bloom;
Just twenty in my bloom when I was shot.

3

'Twas by a musket ball so swift did fly
Which pierced my body through, so I must die.
My brother swift did ride;
To Truro Town he hied.
Alas! alack-a-day, my cruel lot!

4

The surgeon said 'twas o'er, none could me cure,
Bleeding all night, great pains I did endure.
Coroner and jury true
My body well did view.
And from this wound I die at Crantock games.

5

Father, your son is dead, your sorrow bear
Mother, don't break your heart, O mother dear!
Sister, don't cry nor grieve,
It will not you relieve
No warning was I giv'n when I was shot.

1

'Twas early I walked on a midsummer morning,
The fields and the meadows were deckèd and gay,
The small birds were singing, the woodlands a-ringing,
'Twas early in the morning, at breaking of day,
I will play on my pipes, I will sing thee my lay!
It is early in the morning, at breaking of day.

2

O hark! and O hark! to the nightingales wooing,
The lark is aloft piping shrill in the air.
In every green bower the turtle-doves cooing,
The sun is just gleaming, arise up my fair!
Arise, love, arise! none fairer I spie!
Arise, love, arise! O why should I die?

3

Arise, love, arise! go and get your love posies,
The fairest of flowers in garden that grows,
Go gather me lilies, carnations and roses,
I'll wear them with thoughts of the maiden I chose.
I stand at thy door, pretty love, full of care,
O why should I languish so long in despair?

4[26]

O why love, O why, should I banished be from thee?
O why should I see my own chosen no more?
O why look your parents so slightingly on me?
It is all for the rough ragged garments I wore,
But dress me with flowers, I'm gay as a king,
I'm glad as a bird, when my carol I sing.

5

Arise, love, arise! in song and in story,
To rival thy beauty was never a may,
I will play thee a tune on my pipes of ivory,
It is early in the morning, at breaking of day,
I will play on my pipes, I will sing thee my lay!
It is early in the morning, at breaking of day.

1

Three fair maidens a milking did go,
Three maidens a milking did go,
And the wind it did blow high,
And the wind it did blow low,
And it tossed their pails to and fro.

2

Then they met with a man they did know,
O they met with a man they did know,
And they said, Have you the skill,
And they said, Have you the will,
For to catch us a small bird or two?

3

Here's a health to the blackbird in the bush,
Likewise to the merry wood-do'e (dove).
If you'll go along with me
Unto yonder flow'ring tree,
I will catch you a small bird or two.

4

So they went till they stayèd at a bush,
So they went till they stayèd at two.
And the birds they flew about,
Pretty birds flew in and out
And he caught them by one and by two.

5

So my boys we will drink down the sun,
So my boys we will drink down the moon!
For we birds are of one feather,
And we surely flock together,
Let the people say little or none.

1

Young Sailor Dick, as he stepped on shore,
To his quarters of old return'd,
The hostess glad, cries "Dick my lad!
What prize money have you earn'd?"
"Poor luck! poor luck! yet Molly, my duck,
Your daughter I've come to see:
Get ready some supper, with pipes and grog,
And the best Green Bed for me."

2

"My daughter, she's gone out for a walk;
My beds are all bespoken;
My larder's bare, like the rum-keg there,
And my baccy pipes all are broken."
Says Dick, "I'll steer for another berth,
I fear I have made too bold:
But I'll pay for the beer that I've just drunk here,"
And he pulled out a hand-ful of gold.

3

"Come down Molly, quick! here's your sweetheart Dick
Has just come back from sea:
He wants his supper, his grog and a bed,
The best Green Bed it must be."
"No bed," cries Dick, "no supper, no grog,
No sweetheart for me I swear!
You shewed me the door when you thought me poor,
So I'll carry my gold elsewhere."

1

I'll weave my love a garland,
It shall be dressed so fine;
I'll set it round with roses,
With lilies, pinks and thyme.
And I'll present it to my love
When he comes back from sea,
For I love my love, and I love my love,
Because my love loves me.
Blow summer breeze, o'er the sea
Bring my pretty love to me.

2

I wish I were an arrow,
That sped into the air;
To seek him as a sparrow,
And if he was not there,
Then quickly I'd become a fish
To search the raging sea;
For I love my love, and I love my love,
Because my love loves me.
Blow &c.

3

I would I were a reaper,
I'd seek him in the corn;
I would I were a keeper,
I'd hunt him with my horn.
I'd blow a blast, when found at last,
Beneath the green-wood tree,
For I love my love, and I love my love,
Because my love loves me.
Blow &c.

1

O the Streams of Nant-si-an
In two parts divide,
Where the young men in dancing
Meet sweetheart and bride.
They will take no denial,
We must frolic and sing.
And the sound of the viol
O it makes my heart ring.

2

On the rocky cliff yonder
A castle up-stands;
To the seamen a wonder
Above the black sands.
'Tis of ivory builded
With diamonds glazed bright,
And with gold it is gilded,
To shine in the night.

3

Over yonder high mountain
The wild fowl do fly;
And in ocean's deep fountain,
The fairest pearls lie.
On eagle's wings soaring,
I'll speed as the wind;
Ocean's fountain exploring,
My true love I'll find.

4

O the streams of Nant-si-an
Divide in two parts,
And rejoin as in dancing
Do lads their sweethearts.
So the streams, bright and shining
Tho' parted in twain,
Re-unite, intertwining,
One thenceforth remain.

1

There were three drunken maidens,
Came from the Isle of Wight.
They drank from Monday morning,
Nor stayed till Saturday night.
When Saturday night did come, Sirs!
They would not then go out;
Not the three drunken maidens,
As they pushed the jug about.

2

Then came in Bouncing Sally,
With cheeks as red as bloom.
"Make space, my jolly sisters,
Now make for Sally room.
For that I will be your equal,
Before that I go out."
So now four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.

3

It was woodcock and pheasant,
And partridges and hare,
It was all kinds of dainties,
No scarcity was there.
It was four quarts of Malaga,
Each fairly did drink out,
So the four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.

4

Then down came the landlord,
And asked for his pay.
O! a forty-pound bill, Sirs!
The damsels drew that day.
It was ten pounds apiece, Sirs!
But yet, they would not out.
So the four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.

5

"O where be your spencers?
Your mantles rich and fine?"
"They all be a swallowed
In tankards of good wine."
"O where be your characters
Ye maidens brisk and gay?"
"O they be a swallowed!
We've drunk them clean away."

1

Tobacco is an Indian weed,
Grows green at morn, is cut down at eve;
It shows our decay;
We fade as hay.
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.

2

The pipe that is so lily-white,
Wherein so many take delight,
Gone with a touch;
Man's life is such,
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.

3

The pipe that is so foul within,
Shews how the soul is stained with sin;
It doth require
The purging fire.
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.

4

The ashes that are left behind,
Do serve to put us all in mind,
That unto dust,
Return we must.
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.

5

The smoke that doth so high ascend,
Shows that our life must have an end;
The vapours' gone,
Man's life is done.
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.

1

Fair Susan slumbered in shady bower,
Safe hid, she thought, from every eye;
Nor dreamed she in that tranquil hour
Her own true love was passing by.

2

He gazed in rapture upon her beauty,
Sleep did her charms but more reveal;
He deemed it sure a lover's duty
From those sweet lips a kiss to steal.

3

In shame and anger poor Susan started,
With eyes aflame she bade him go;
"Return no more!—for ever parted;
Cruel and base to use me so!"

4

"By too much love I have offended,
Forgive me if I cause you pain;
But if indeed our love be ended,
Pray give me back my kiss again."

1

I courted a maiden both buxom and gay,
Unheeding what people against her did say,
I thought her as constant and true as the day.
But now she is going to be married.

2

O when to the church I my fair love saw go,
I followed her up with a heart full of woe,
And eyes that with tears of grief did o'erflow,
To see how my suit had miscarried.

3

O when in the chancel I saw my love stan',
With ring on her finger, and true love in han',
I thought that for certain 'twas not the right man,
Although 'twas the man she was taking.

4

O when I my fair love saw sit in her seat
I sat myself by her, but nothing could eat;
Her company, thought I, was better than meat,
Although my heart sorely was aching.

5

O woe be the day that I courted the maid,
That ever I trusted a word that she said,
That with her I wander'd along the green glade,
Accurs'd be the day that I met her.

6

O make me a grave that is long, wide and deep,
And cover me over with flowers so sweet,
That there I may lie, and may take my last sleep;
For that is the way to forget her.

1

As Jan was hurrying down the glade,
He met his sweetheart Kit;
"O whither so fast?" the maiden ask'd,
"Let's bide and talk a bit."
"I'm going to the barn, and if you'll come,
And help me thresh the stro',
That task complete, why then my sweet,
A ramble we will go."

2

She gave consent, to work they went,
As if 'twere only play;
The flail he plied, whilst Kit untied,
The sheaves, and cleared away.
O willing hands made labour light,
And 'ere the sun was low,
With arms entwined, these lovers kind,
Did down the vallies go.

3

Said Jan, "Thou art a helpful lass,
Wilt thou be mine for life?"
"For sure!" she said. To church they sped,
And soon were man and wife.
A lesson then, for all young men
Who would a courting go,
Your sweetheart ask to share your task,
And thresh the Barley Stro'.

4

Now many a year, this couple dear,
They lived in harmony;
And children had, both lass and lad,
I think 'twas thirty-three.
The sons so hale did wield the flail,
And like their father grow;
The maidens sweet, like mother were neat:
And clean as the Barley Stro'.

1

As I walked out one day, one day,
All in the merry month of May,
When lambs did skip and thrushes sing,
And ev'ry bush with buds did spring.

2

I met an old man by the way,
His head was bald, his beard was grey,
His coat was of the Myrtle-green,
But underneath his ribs were seen.

3

He in his hand a glass did hold,
He shook as one that shakes with cold.
I asked of him what was his name,
And what strange place from which he came.

4

"My name is Death, fair maiden, see
Lords, Dukes and Squires bow down to me;
For of the Branchy Tree[27] am I
And you, fair maid, with me must hie."

5

"I'll give you gold, if me you'll spare,
I'll give you costly robes to wear!"
"O no, sweet maid, make no delay
Your sand is run, you must away!"

6

Alas! alack! the fair maid died,
And these the last sad words she cried:
"Here lies a poor, distressed maid,
By Death—and Death alone betrayed."

1

Both sexes give ear to my fancy,
In praise of sweet woman I sing,
Confined not to Doll, Sue, or Nancy,
The mate of the beggar or king.
When Adam was first a-created,
And lord of the universe crown'd,
His happiness was not completed,
Until that a helpmate was found.

2

A garden was planted by Nature,
Man could not produce in his life,
But no rest had he till his Creator
Discovered he wanted a wife.
He had horses and foxes for hunting
Which most men love dearly as life,
No relishsome food was a wanting
But still—he was short of a wife.

3

As Adam was resting in slumber,
He lost a small rib from his side,
And when he awoke—'twas in wonder,
To see a most beautiful bride.
In transport he gazèd upon her,
His happiness now was complete.
He praisèd the bountiful Donor,
Who to him had given a mate.

4

She was not taken out of his head, sir,
To rule and to triumph in man.
Nor was she took out of his foot, sir,
By him to be trampled upon.
But she was took out of his side, sir,
His equal co-partner to be;
So, united is man with his bride, sir,
Yet man is the top of the tree.

5

Then let not the fair be despisèd
By man, as she's part of himself.
Let woman by man be a-prizèd
As more than the world full of wealth.
A man without woman's a beggar,
Tho' by him the world were possess'd
But a beggar that's got a good woman
With more than the world is he bless'd.

1

I rode my little horse, from London town I came,
I rode into the country, to seek myself a dame,
And if I meet a pretty maid, be sure I'll kiss her then;
And swear that I will marry her—but will not tell her when!

2

I found a buxom widow, with many tons of gold,
I lived upon her fortune, as long as it would hold.
Of pounds I took five hundred, bestrode my horse, and then,
I promised I would marry her—but never told her when!

3

A vintner had a daughter, the Golden Sun his sign,
I tarried at his tavern, I drank his choicest wine;
I drank out all his cellar, bestrode my horse, and then,
I said the maid I'd marry,—but never told him when!

4

The guineas are expended, the wine is also spent;
The widow and the maiden, they languish and lament.
And if they come to seek me, I'll pack them back again,
With promises of marriage,—but never tell them when.

5

My little horse I mounted, the world that I might see,
I found a pretty maiden—as poor as poor could be.
My little horse neglected, to London ran away,
I asked if she would marry, and bade her name the day.

1

As I walked out one morn betime,
To view the fields in May, Sir,
There I espied a fair sweet maid,
Among the new-mown hay, Sir.
Among the new-mown hay.

2

I said: 'Good morning, pretty maid,
How come you here so soon, say?'
'To keep my father's sheep,' she said,
'A thing that must be done, aye!
Among the new-mown hay.

3

'While they be feeding mid the dew,
To pass the time away, Sir!
I sit me down to knit and sew,
Among the new-mown hay, Sir!
Among the new-mown hay.'

4

I ask'd if she would wed with me,
All on that sunny day, Sir!
The answer that she gave to me
Was surely not a nay, Sir!
Among the new-mown hay.

5

Then to the church we sped with speed
And Hymen join'd our hands, Sir!
No more the ewes and lambs she'll feed
Since she did make her answer,
Among the new-mown hay.

6

A lord I be, a lady she,
To town we sped straightway, Sir!
To bless the day, we both agree,
We met among the hay, Sir!
Among the new-mown hay.

1

I'll build myself a gallant ship,
A ship of noble fame;
And four and twenty mariners,
Shall box and man the same;
And I will stand, with helm in hand,
To urge them o'er the main.

2

No scarf shall o'er my shoulders go,
I will not comb my hair;
The pale moonlight, the candle bright
Shall neither tell I'm fair.
Beside the mast I stand so fast,
Unresting in despair.

3

The rain may beat, and round my feet
The waters wash and foam,
O thou North wind lag not behind
But bear me far from home!
My hands I wring, and sobbing sing,
As over seas I roam.

4

The moon so pale shall light my sail,
As o'er the sea I fly,
To where afar the Eastern star
Is twinkling in the sky.
I would I were with my love fair,
Ere ever my love die!

1

A story, a story, I'll tell you just now,
It's all about killing of Colly, my cow.
Ah! my pretty Colly, poor Colly, my cow!
Poor Colly will give no more milk to me now.
And that is the way my fortune doth go!

2

Says little Tom Dicker, Pray what do you mean,
By killing your Colly when she was so lean?
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

3

Then cometh the Tripeman so trim and so neat,
He bids me three ha'pence for belly and feet;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

4

Then cometh the Tanner with sword at his side,
He bids me three shillings for Colly, her hide;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

5

Then cometh the Horner who roguery scorns,
He bids me three ha'pence for Colly, her horns;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

6

The skin of my Colly was softer than silk,
And three times a day did my Colly give milk;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

7

Here's an end to my Colly, she's gone past recall,
I have sold my poor Colly, hide, horns, feet and all.
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

8

Three shillings and three pence are all for my pains,
I've lost my poor Colly, my milk and my gains.
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.

1

Within a garden a maiden lingered,
When soft the shades of evening fell,
Expecting, fearing,
A footstep hearing,
Her love appearing,
To say farewell.

2

With sighs and sorrow their vows they plighted
One more embrace, one last adieu;
Tho' seas divide, love,
In this confide, love,
Whate'er betide, love,
To thee I'm true.

3

Long years are over, and still the maiden
Seeks oft at eve the trysting tree;
Her promise keeping,
And, faithful, weeping,
Her lost love sleeping
Across the sea.