songs2-msg - 4/14/07

 

SCA and medieval songs.

 

NOTE: See also the files: songs-msg, SI-songbook1-art, song-sources-msg,

singing-msg, bardic-msg, Bardic-Guide-art, guitar-art, Hornbook-art.

 

************************************************************************

NOTICE -

 

This file is a collection of various messages having a common theme that I have collected from my reading of the various computer networks. Some messages date back to 1989, some may be as recent as yesterday.

 

This file is part of a collection of files called Stefan's Florilegium. These files are available on the Internet at: http://www.florilegium.org

 

I have done a limited amount of editing. Messages having to do with separate topics were sometimes split into different files and sometimes extraneous information was removed. For instance, the message IDs were removed to save space and remove clutter.

 

The comments made in these messages are not necessarily my viewpoints. I make no claims as to the accuracy of the information given by the individual authors.

 

Please respect the time and efforts of those who have written these messages. The copyright status of these messages is unclear at this time. If information is published from these messages, please give credit to the originator(s).

 

Thank you,

    Mark S. Harris                  AKA:  THLord Stefan li Rous

                                          Stefan at florilegium.org

************************************************************************

 

From: leeu at nobeltech.se (Leif Euren)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: REQUEST: Drinking songs and loud obnoxious things

Date: 20 Nov 92 08:49:57 GMT

Organization: NobelTech AB

 

"Wailer at the Gates of Dawn" writes:

>     Could someone provide some pointers to some period drinking songs?

>Serious as well as loud - baudy - obnoxious are welcome.  The song that gets

>on everybodies nerves is fine but I'd like some more variety.

 

I'll provide you with the Nordmark favourite, In Taberna. It is best

sung at late night revels, preferrably performed unrehearsed, and at

least one person should sing off-key.  A lot of wine helps to get in

the right mood!

 

I would have mailed this song if I had an english translation.  The

original is in latin, and I have translations into german and swedish,

but not into english. So now I wonder, are there anyone somebody in

netland who know so much latin that he or she could provide us with an

english version?  Or at least a word-for-word translation, so that

others can provide rhythm and rhyme?  I'll mail you the german (or

swedish :-) version if you think it'll help.

 

Until we get a translation, I'll give an short description of the

text: it's about sitting in a tavern, drinking; how nice it is, and

why it should be done.  A number of toasts are proposed, as well as a

long list of reasons to drink.

 

'hope it'll add to your revels!

 

      your humble servant

      Peder Klingrode

 

 

  Herr Peder Klingrode                    | Leif Euren   Stockholm, Sweden

  Holmgard, Nordmark, Drachenwald, East   | leeu at nobeltech.se

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

      IN TABERNA

 

      (Carmina Burana #196, s Germany, c. 1230)

 

      In taberna quando sumus,

      non curamus, quid sit humus,

      sed ad ludum properamus,

      cui semper insudamus.

      Quid agatur in taberna,

      ubi summus est pincerna,

      hoc est opus ut quaeratur;

      sic quid loquar, audiatur.

 

      Quidam ludunt, quidam bibunt,

      quidam indiscrete vivunt;

      sed in ludo qui morantur,

      ex his quidam denudantur,

      quidam ibi vestiuntur,

      quidam saccis induuntur:

      ibi nullus timet mortem,

      sed pro Bacchus mittunt sortem.

 

      Primo pro nummata vini;

      ex hac bibunt libertini:

      semel bibunt pro captivis,

      post haec bibunt ter pro vivis,

          quater pro Christianis cunctis,

          quinquies pro fidelibus defunctis,

          sexies pro sororibus vanis,

          septies pro militibus silvanis,

          octies pro fratribus perversis,

          novies pro monachis dispersis,

          decies pro navigantibus,

          undecies pro discordantibus,

          duodecies pro paenitentibus,

          tredecies pro iter agentibus,

          tam pro papa quam pro rege.

 

      Bibit hera, bibit herus,

      bibit miles, bibit clerus,

      bibit ille, bibit illa,

      bibit servus cum ancilla,

      bibit velox, bibit piger,

      bibit albus, bibit niger,

      bibit constans, bibit vagus,

      bibit rudis, bibit magus.

 

      Bibit pauper et aegrotus,

      bibit exul et ignotus,

      bibit puer, bibit canus,

      bibit praesul et decanus,

      bibit soror, bibit frater,

      bibit anus, bibit mater,

      bibit iste, bibit ille,

      bibit centum, bibit mille.

 

      Parum sescentae nummatae

      durant, cum immoderate

      bibunt omnes sine meta,

      quamvis bibant mente laeta.

      Sic nos rodunt omnes gentes,

      et sic erimus egentes.

      Qui nos rodunt, confundantur

      "et cum iustis non scribantur".

 

 

 

Tune:

      d d f d e f g e

      g g f e d f d d

      d d f d e f g e

      g g f e d f d d

      a g f e g g a a

      a g f e g g a a

      d d f d e f g e

      g g f e d f d d

 

 

Primary source: "Codex Buranus", Bayrische Staatsbibl. clm 4600 - 4660a

      ("Beuren-manuskripten")

 

Secondary source: Beuren-manuskripten,

      published by Johann Andreas Schmeller, Stuttgart (1847)

 

Tertiary source: Liber Cantorum Nordmarkensium,

      compiled by brother Botvid (pseud. Bo Ohlson), Stockholm (1991)

 

Recommended recording: "Carmina Burana" Clementic Consort,

      harmonia mundi HMA 43385

 

 

From: cozzlab at garnet.berkeley.edu ()

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: REQUEST: Drinking songs and loud obnoxious things

Date: 25 Nov 1992 18:45:23 GMT

Organization: University of California, Berkeley

 

Dave.Aronson at p11.f120.n109.z1.fidonet.org (Dave Aronson) writes:

>leeu at nobeltech.se (Leif Euren) writes:

> LE> So now I wonder, are there anyone somebody in

> LE> netland who know so much latin that he or she could provide us with an

> LE> english version?

>

>I know so LITTLE Latin that I can translate it. ("Oh no!  Not again!")

 

[interesting concoction deleted]

 

Well.... after that, I have fewer fears about posting my translation, even

though I suspect it may have a few bugs in it.

 

IN TABERNA

 

(Carmina Burana #196, s Germany, c. 1230)

 

In taberna quando sumus,      When we are in the tavern,

non curamus, quid sit humus,  We don't care if we are mortal,

sed ad ludum properamus,      But we hasten to play,

cui semper insudamus.         Which is what we always crave.

Quid agatur in taberna,       What is to be done in the tavern,

ubi summus est pincerna,      Where the jug rules,

hoc est opus ut quaeratur;    This is what you have to seek,

sic quid loquar, audiatur.    But listen to what I say.

 

Quidam ludunt, quidam bibunt, Some play, some drink,

quidam indiscrete vivunt;     Some live indiscreetly,

sed in ludo qui morantur,     But those who die in the middle of a game

ex his quidam denudantur,     some strip them bare.

quidam ibi vestiuntur,        Some dress in the spoils,

quidam saccis induuntur:      Some wear sackcloth:

ibi nullus timet mortem,      There no one fears death,

sed pro Bacchus mittunt sortem.     But they throw in their lot with Bacchus.

 

Primo pro nummata vini;       First for (wine in sealed bottles?)

ex hac bibunt libertini:      The free spirits drink from them:

semel bibunt pro captivis,    Second they drink for poor captives;

post haec bibunt ter pro vivis,     After that they drink for the living,

quater pro Christianis cunctis,     Fourth, for all Christians,

quinquies pro fidelibus defunctis,  Fifth, for the faithful departed,

sexies pro sororibus vanis,   sixth, for wayward sisters,

septies pro militibus silvanis,     seventh, for soldiers on forest duty,

octies pro fratribus perversis,     eighth, for fallen-away brethren,

novies pro monachis dispersis,      ninth, for monks gone astray,

decies pro navigantibus,      tenth, for sailors,

undecies pro discordantibus,  eleventh, for heretics,

duodecies pro paenitentibus,  twelfth, for penitents,

tredecies pro iter agentibus, thirteenth, for travelers,

tam pro papa quam pro rege,   As many times for the Pope as for the King,

bibunt omnes sine lege.       And then each drinks as he likes.

 

[Note that they are drinking in the tavern for the same list they pray

for in the church.]

 

Bibit hera, bibit herus,      The nobleman drinks, the noblewoman drinks,

bibit miles, bibit clerus,    The soldier drinks, the clerk drinks,

bibit ille, bibit illa,       He drinks, she drinks,

bibit servus cum ancilla,     The manservant drinks, the maidservant drinks,

bibit velox, bibit piger,     The swift man drinks, the slow man drinks,

bibit albus, bibit niger,     The fair man drinks, the dark man drinks,

bibit constans, bibit vagus,  The stay-at-home drinks, the wanderer drinks,

bibit rudis, bibit magus.     The ignorant man drinks, the wise man drinks.

 

Bibit pauper et aegrotus,     The poor miserable beggar drinks,

bibit exul et ignotus,        The unknown exile drinks,

bibit puer, bibit canus,      The treble drinks, the tenor drinks,

bibit praesul et decanus,     The prior and the deacon drink.

bibit soror, bibit frater,    The sister drinks, the brother drinks,

bibit anus, bibit mater,      The granddad drinks, the mother drinks,

bibit iste, bibit ille,       This one drinks, that one drinks,

bibit centum, bibit mille.    A hundred drink, a thousand drink.

 

Parum sescentae nummatae      Seven hundred jugs together

durant, cum immoderate        Will last out a huge crowd

bibunt omnes sine meta,       Drinking without restraint.

quamvis bibant mente laeta.   Let everyone drink with a glad mind.

Sic nos rodunt omnes gentes,  Thus everyone will despise us

et sic erimus egentes.        And thus we'll be cast out:

Qui nos rodunt, confundantur  Those who despise us, damn them,

"et cum iustis non scribantur".     "And may they not be written among the just."

 

 

("Nummus" is a coin; I'm assuming [guessing] that a "nummata" is a

bottle sealed with a lump of wax or clay and marked with somebody's

or some office's seal as a guarantee of quality [and to keep it from

being dipped into en route].)

 

 

 

 

Dorothea of Caer-Myrddin                               Dorothy J. Heydt

Mists/Mists/West                                              Albany CA

Argent, a cross forme'e sable

 

 

From: leeu at nobeltech.se (Leif Euren)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: REQUEST: Drinking songs and loud obnoxious things

Date: 27 Nov 92 10:03:13 GMT

Organization: NobelTech AB

 

To all on the Rialto, my geetings!

 

I got so much positive response to my posting of "In Taberna", that I

push my luck further and give to you another Nordmark favourite, "Ich

was ein chint".  This song is also from Carmina Burana, both text and

tune.

 

In the verses, the first and third line is in german, while the the

second and fourth is in latin.  It is thought that this was to make

the song incomprehensible to all but the learned.  Perhaps it was made

by some students who wanted to brag about their knowledge in latin.

 

The english "straight" translation I've made myself from a likewise

"straight" translation into sedish in Liber Cantorum Nordmarkensium.

 

Enjoy!

 

      your humble servant

      Peder Klingrode

 

 

  Herr Peder Klingrode                    | Leif Euren   Stockholm, Sweden

  Holmgard, Nordmark, Drachenwald, East   | leeu at nobeltech.se

 

========================================================================

 

ICH WAS EIN CHINT

 

(anon., Carmina Burana #185, Germany, c. 1230)

 

Ich was ein chint so wolgetan       (I was a child so wellbred

virgo dum florebam                 (a maiden in my flowering

do brist mich diu werlt al          (all the world praised me

omnibus placebam             (all I pleased

   Ch.:       Hoy et oe!                        (Oh! and Woe!

       |: Maledicantur tilie              (Damned be all linden

        iuxta viam posite! :|             (that stands near the road

 

 

Ia wolde ih an die wisen gan        (I wanted to go to the meadow

flores adunare                     (to pick flowers

do wolde mich ein ungetan           (then would me an evil-doer

ibi deflorare.                     (there deflorate.

 

Er nam mich bi der wizen hant       (He took me by my white hand

sed non indecenter                 (not without decency

er wist mich diu wisen lanch        (he showed me along the meadow

valde fraudulenter.                (with great cunning.

 

Er graif mir an daz wize gewant           (He gripped me on the white chemise

valde indecenter             (very indecently

er furte mich bi der hant           (he brought me by my hand

multum violenter.                  (very violently.

 

Er sprach: "Vrowe, ge wir baz       (He said: "Girl, we'll go down

nemus est remotum!"                (to the grove over there!"

Dirre wech der habe haz!            (Damed be the path thereto!

Plaxi est hoc totum.               (How I regret all this.

 

"Iz stat ein linde wolgetan         ("There stand a linden so grand

non procul a via             (not far from the road

da hab ich meine herphe lan,        (there have I my harp laid

timpanum cum lyra."                (my [timpani] and lyre."

 

Do er zu der linden chom            (When he to the linden came

dixit: "Sedeamus!"                 (said he: "Let us sit!"

Diu minne twanch sere den man.            (Lust forced severely the man.

"Ludum faciamus!"                  ("Let us play!"

 

Er graif mir an den wizen lip       (He gripped me around my waist

non absque timore                  (not without fear

er sprah: "Ich mache dich ein wip,  (he said: "I will make you a woman,

dulcis est cum ore!"               (how sweet your mouth is!"

 

Er warf mir uf daz hemdelin,        (He throwed me on the linen

corpore detecta.             (revealed my body.

Er rante mir in daz purgelin,       (He stormed into my virginhood

cuspide erecta.              (with raised lance.

 

Er namn den chocher und den bogen   (He took the quiver and the bow

bene venebatur                     (after a good hunt

der selbe hete mich betrogen        (The one who had betrayed me

"Ludus compleatur!"                (said "Now the game is over!"

 

 

Tune:

      a-- g-- f-- e-- g-- g-- a------

      a-- g-- f-- e-- g------ a------

      a-- g-- f-- e-- g-- g-- a------

      a-- g-- f-- e-- g------ a------

 

      a-------------- g------ g------ a--------------

      d-- d d c-- e-- g-- g-- f------

      a-- g-- f-- g-- a-- g-- a------

      d-- d d c-- e-- g-- g-- f------

      a-- g-- f-- e-- d-- c-- d------

 

 

 

Primary source: "Codex Buranus", Bayrische Staatsbibl. clm 4660 - 4660a

      ("Beuren-manuskripten")

 

Secondary source: Beuren-manuskripten,

      published by Johann Andreas Schmeller, Stuttgart (1847)

 

Tertiary source: Liber Cantorum Nordmarkensium,

      compiled by brother Botvid (pseud. Bo Ohlson), Stockholm (1991)

 

Recommended recording: "Carmina Burana, Vol. II" New London Consort,

      soprano solo by Catherine Bolt, L'Oiseau-Lyre 421 062-2.

 

 

From: pavao at cae.wisc.edu

Date: Tue, 17 Nov 92 02:40:18 CST

To: banshee at cats.UCSC.EDU

Subject: Re: REQUEST: Drinking songs and loud obnoxious things

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Organization: U of Wisconsin-Madison College of Engineering

 

Greetings from Jararvellir!

 

      Being the Bard for my household, I would consider it a great favour

if you were to forward the responses to your request for drinking songs to

me.  In addition, I will share one of mine...

 

The ale, the cup, the table, the tavern and the town,

The last one went down easier than the <nth> time around.

 

      Where the <nth> is the number of times you've sung the chorus.  I'll

send the tune as soon as we can puzzle out a way to communicate it.  The verses

are sung to the same tune, and can be made up on the spot, with the addition

of the fact that the last bit of the verse is sung twice, like so:

 

Rena Thorbjornsdottir,

For friends, she'll never lack,

You'll see more 'round the front of her,

Than you will around the back,

Than you will around the back!

 

It's the ale, the cup, the table,

The tavern and the town,

The last one went down easier,

Than the <nth> time around!

 

      Et cetera.

 

      My thanks...

 

-> Shandler

 

SCA: Shandler Greyfeathre

MKA: Aaron Pavao

NET: pavao at cae.wisc.edu

 

 

From: butlej at rpi.edu

Date: Wed, 18 Nov 92 17:12:47 EST

To: banshee at cats.UCSC.EDU

Subject: Songs...

 

Haelo...

      Here are some songs for you to look over. I hope they help.

 

Gwendolyn of Bleddfa

 

 

                            BORED IN THE SCA!  

                                        -various Marklanders

                                        -tune: "Born in the USA"

        BORED in the SCA!

        Oh, I'm a LORD in the SCA!

        I use "Prince Valiant" for historical sources!

        I'm a knight, but where are the horses?!

        Bright colors and panty hose!

        Polyester from my head to my toes!

        Oh, I am BORED in the SCA!

        Yes, I am BORED in the SCA!

        Over there's a Samurai, I think,

        Must because of the fishy stink!

        I'm a King in Fantasyland,

        Don't fight with steel, I use bare rattan!

        Oh, I am BORED in the SCA!

        Joined the HORDE in the SCA!

        Now I can rape and pillage and burn

        Goon the jerks that never learn!

        Looks like ( insert name of choice ) is here!

        Hide the chickens, and dogs and beer!

        I was BORED in the SCA!

        I was BORED in the SCA!

        Joined the HORDE in the SCA!

        Joined the HORDE in the SCA!

                                   *

 

 

 

 

SCOTLAND'S DEPRAVED    [Bertram's Original Version]

 

   TUNE for the verses is -

     "There Were Three Bonnie Lassies, Came from the Isle of Wight"

     (which I heard on a Steeleye Span record)

 

There was a bonnie lassie, and she had brothers three;

She did love a foreign lord, who came from Coventry.

Her brothers did not like this and they told her to her face,

"We're fearful, bonnie sister, the family you'll disgrace.

 

For you're a highborn Scottish lass, of noble highland birth,

And we don't think no foreign laird can give you what you're worth!"

She said, "He is a valiant lord - he'll show you what he's got,

You'll see the stuff he's made of - he'll out-Scottish any Scot!"

 

"We'll set him tests of honor," the brothers they declared,

"And if he canna do them, we'll surely know he's scared,

In fact we clearly doubt that he'll escape from them alive,

And so we'll set the contest - the trials will be five."

 

The first contest was golfing, in which the lord did fine.

He killed a dozen hedgehogs while shooting the back nine.

He double-bogied every hole, his ball went wide and far,

But when they counted hedgehogs, they found he'd broken par!

 

The second one was piping, in which he held his own,

He outdid all the brothers, for on and on he'd drone.

He kept his pipes a'skirlin' 'til they all were out of breath,

The reason - not his diaphragm - it's just that he's tone deaf!

 

The next trial was sword dancing - with bare feet & bare sword,

And in this painful trial, he proved a mighty lord.

"Good brothers I don't understand - you said this would be hard!

They made me wear my armor when I learned to galliard!"

 

The fourth contest was drinking, the knight showed them his stuff.

He chug-a-lugged from six more jugs when they had cried, "Enough!"

He planned to take the excess home, he put it in a pail...

"It makes a welcome change," he said, "from luke-warm English ale!"

 

The fifth and final contest, this valiant knight was told,

Was to eat a hag-gis [pause] while it was still COLD!

The knight he ate a score of them, he said "Good friends come here.

I'll have another score, but - this time with Worcestershire!"

 

When the trials were over, her kin said "Sister dear,

Though he has won the contest, you may not wed, we fear.

For when we were out golfing, he proved his mind's unsound.

The man, he must be crazy, he loaned me half a crown!"

 

"Begone you silly spendthrift, to you I won't be wed.

The way you throw your gold around, you must have lost your head!"

The knight he quit the highlands and returned to Coventry,

The lass she wed a highland man, kept Scottish lovers, three.

 

Thus it goes in Scottish lands, the sexes both are bawds,

Where half of them are bastards, and all of them tightwads!

This tale is nearly over and I'm singin' on one lung,

But to conclude the moral, at last it must be sung...

 

CLOSING [to the tune of Scotland the Brave]

 

O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h,  (sound like a set of pipes starting up)

Scotland it is the land, please

For lusty lairds and lassies,

Though England may be moral

SCOTLAND'S DEPRAVED!

 

 

 

Slay-O

(sung to "Day-O")

Words by K.A. von Zauberberg

 

refrain:  Slay-O, Slay-O, Having fun at the Pennsic War.

           Slay-O, Slay-O, Having fun at the Pennsic War.

 

Put on armor, to the battle run.

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

Fight all day in the hot, hot sun.

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

 

Hey mister marshal man, come inspect my armor.

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

I've been standin' in the sun ev'ry minute gettin' warmer.

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

 

REFRAIN

 

Five kill, six kill, seven kill, bunch!

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

And pretty soon we'll break for lunch!

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

 

When the battle is done I'm gonna go down to the swimmin' hole.

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

Where all the men who like to see the pretty women go.

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

 

REFRAIN

 

Round the fire pass the wine skin.

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

That someone has his new mead in.

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

 

Smoke from the fire circles to the sky.

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

And ev'rybody's singin' by and by.

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

 

REFRAIN

 

Time to leave has come I fear.

No more fun at the Pennsic War.

But we'll be back again next year.

Having fun at the Pennsic War.

 

REFRAIN sung twice.

 

 

 

 

THE MONGOL

sung to: The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkle

 

I am just a mongol  and my story's often told,

How I swept down from the Gobi

With a quiver full of arrows and a recurve bow

Held in my hand

And leaving fire and slaughter as I rode across the land.

 

When I left my home in Mongolia I was no more than a boy

In the midst of my sword brothers

In the quiet of the Gobi desert riding hard

Through the night

Cause a man does what he's got to do if he's going to fight

And put his scattered enemies to flight.

 

And we ride, yes we ride on through the night

And we ride, yes we'll ride on til we reach the morning light.

 

Seeking only warrior's wages I come fighting for your loot

But I'll take no prisoners

And I'll carry off your women on my pony's back.

I do proclaim that each one seems quite special

Though I can't recall her name.

 

Now I'm counting out my booty and I dream of going home

Going home

But the gobi's just a desert full of empty sand

Pretty bland at home

At home

 

In the square they're playing polo, it's an interesting game

And the ball bears the reminder

Of every blow that swung down low and cuts it til we cry out

In out, in our anger and our pain

"Oh, this head's far too mushy,

It's a double header game!"

 

And we ride, yes we'll ride on through the night.

And we ride, yes we'll ride on til we reach the morning light!

 

In the square they're playing polo

It's an interesting game

And the ball bears the reminder

Of every blow that's swung down low

And cuts it til we cry out

In our anger and our pain,

"OH, THIS HEAD'S FAR TOO MUSHY-

IT'S A DOUBLE-HEADER GAME!"

 

And we ride, yes we ride on through the night

And we ride, yes well ride on til we reach the morning light!

 

by Ritter Baron Karl Aerdigwidder von Zauberberg

 

 

Peggy Seeger & Ewan MacColl's _The_Singing_Island:_A_

_collection_of_English_and_Scots_Folksongs_ (London: Mills Music,

Ltd.), 1960.

 

Black Velvet Band

 

         D

1. In a neat little town they call Belfast,

                               A7

    Apprenticed to trade I was bound,

        D       A7           D

    And many an hour's sweet happiness

           A7                        D

    Have I spent in that neat little town.

 

2. A bad misfortune came over me,

    And caused me to stray from the land,

    Away from my friends and relations,

    Betrayed by the black velvet band.

 

    Optional Chorus: Her eyes they shone like diamonds,

                     I thought her the queen of the land,

                     And her hair it hung over her shoulders,

                     Tied up with a black velvet band.

 

3. I took a stroll down Broadway,

    Meaning not long for to stay,

    When who should I see but a pretty fair maid,

    Come tripping along the pathway.

 

4. She was both fair and handsome,

    Her neck it was just like the swan,

    And her hair it hung over her shoulders,

    Tied up with a black velvet band.

 

5. I took a stroll with this pretty fair maid,

    And a gentleman passing us by,

    I knew she meant a doing for him

    By the look in her roguish black eye.

 

6. His watch she took from his pocket,

    And placed it right into my hand,

    And the very next thing that I said was:

    ``Bad luck to the black velvet band.''

 

7. Before the judge and jury,

    Next morning I had to appear;

    The judge he said to me: ``Young man,

    Your case it is proved clear.

 

8. ``We'll give you seven years penal servitude,

    To be spent right away from your land,

    Far away from your friends and relations,

    Betrayed by the black velvet band.''

 

9. So come all you jolly young fellows,

    I'll have you take warning by me,

    When you are out on the liquor, my boys,

    Beware of your pretty coleen.

 

10. They'll treat you to strong drink, my boys,

    Till you are not able to stand,

    And before you have time to leave them,

    They'll land you in Van Dieman's Land.

 

 

 

 

"Donald Macgillavry"

 

Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry,

Donald comes down the hill wild and angry

Donald will clear the gouk's nest cleverly,

Here's to the king and Donald Macgillavry.

    Come like a weighbank, Donald Macgillavry,

    Come like a weighbank, Donald Macgillavry,

    Balance them fair, and balance them cleverly:

    Off wi' the counterfeit, Donald Macgillavry.

 

Doanld's run o'er the hill but his tether, man,

As he were wud, or stang'd wi' an ether, man;

When he comes back, there's some will look merrily:

Here's to King James and Donald Macgillavry.

    Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry,

    Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry,

    Pack on your back and elwand sae cleverly;

    Gie them full measure, my Donald Macgillavry.

 

Donald has foughten wi' reif and roguery;

Donald has dinner'd wi' banes and beggary,

Bettwe it were for Whigs and Whiggery

Meeting the devil than Donald Macgillavry.

    Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry,

    Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry,

    Push about, in and out, thimble them cleverly,

    Here's to King James and Donald Macgillavry.

 

Donald's the callan that brooks nae tangleness;

Whigging and prigging and a' newfangleness,

They maun be gane: he winna be baukit, man:

He maun have justice, or faith he'll tak it, man.

    Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry,

    Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry;

    Beat them, and bore them, and lingel them cleverly,

    Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry.

 

Donald was mumpit wi' mirds and mockery;

Donald was blinded wi' blads o' property;

Arles ran high, but makings were naething, man,

Lord, how Donald is flying and fretting, man.

    Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry,

    Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry;

    Skelp them and scaud them that proved sae unbritherly,

    Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry!

 

 

 

 

  Sir James The Rose -- Steeleye Span

 

Oh have you heard of Sir James the Rose,

The young heir of Loch Lagon?

For he has killed a gallant squire

And his friends are out to take him.

And he's gone to the House of Mare

A nurse there did befriend him

And he has gone upon his knee

And begged for her to hide him.

"Where ya going, Sir James?" she said.

"Where now are you riding?"

"Oh, I am bound for a forgein land

For now I'm under hiding."

 

Chorus:

Where shall I go? Where shall I run?

Where shall I for to hide me?

For I have killed a gallant squire

And they're seeking for to slay me.

 

She turned him right and roundabout

And turned him in the braken.

And he has gone to take a sleep

In the lowlands of Loch Lagon.

He had not well gone out of sight

Nor was he past Millstraton

When four and twenty belted knights

Came riding on the leven.

"Have you see Sir James the Rose,

The young heir of Loch Lagon?

For he has killed a gallant squire

And we're sent out to take him."

 

"You'll see the bank above the mill

In the lowlands of Loch Lagon

And there you'll find SIr James the Rose

Sleeping in the bracken."

"You must not wake him out of sleep

Nor yet must you afright him.

Just run a dart right thru his heart

And thru the body pierce him."

They saw the bank above the mill

In the lowlands of Loch Lagon

And there they found Sir James the Rose

Sleeping in the bracken.

 

Then up and spake Sir John the Grey

Who had the charge of keeping.

"It will never be said, dear gentlemen

We killed him while he's sleeping."

They seized his broadsword and his charge

And closely him surrounded.

And when he woke out of sleep

His senses were confounded.

Now they have taken out his heart

And stuck it on a spear

They took it to the House of Mare

And gave it to his dear.

 

 

 

THE QUEEN OF ALL ARGYLL

 

Gentlemen, it is my duty

to inform you of one beauty,

though I'd ask of you a favor no' to see her for a while.

Though I own she is a creature,

of character and feature,

no words could paint the picture of the queen of all Argyll.

 

Cho:  And if you could have seen her there,

      boys if you had just been there,

      the swan was in her movement and the morning in her smile.

      All the roses in the garden,

      they bow and ask her pardon,

      for not one could match the beauty of the queen of all Argyll.

 

On the evening that I mention,

I passed with light intention

through a part of our dear country known for beauty and for style,

being a place of noble thinkers,

of scholars and great drinkers,

far above them all for splendor shone the queen of all Argyll.

 

(cho)

 

Now my lads I needs must leave you;

my intention's no' to grieve you,

nor indeed will I deceive you, no, I'll see you in a while.

I must find some way to gain her,

to court her and obtain her,

oh I fear my heart's in danger from the queen of all Argyll.

 

 

 

The Ramblin' Rover - Andy M. Stewart

 

    Oh there's sober men and plenty and drunkards nearly twenty

    There are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl

    But gi' me a ramblin' rover frae Orkney down to Dover

    We will roam the country over and together we'll face the world

 

I've roamed through all the nations, ta'en delight in all creation

And I've tried a wee sensation where company did prove kind

When parting was no pleasure I've drunk another measure

To the good friends that we treasure for they always are in our mind

 

There's many that fein enjoyment from merciless employment

Their ambition was this deployment from the minute they left the school

And they save and scrape and ponder while the rest go out and squander

See the world and rove and wander and they're happier as a rule

 

If you're bent with arthritis your bowels have got colitis

You've got gallopin' bollockitis and you're thinking it's time you died

If you've been a man of action while you're lying there in traction

You may gain some satisfaction thinking "Jesus at least I tried!"

 

Rattlin' Bog - traditional

 

    Oh, row, the rattlin' bog

    The bog down in the valley, oh

    Oh, row, the rattlin' bog

    The bog down in the valley, oh

 

In the bog there was a tree

A rare tree, a rattlin' tree

Tree in the bog

And the bog down in the valley, oh

 

On the tree there was a limb

A rare limb, a rattlin' limb

Limb on the tree

And the tree in the bog

And the bog down in the valley, oh

 

    .  .  .

 

>From the bird there came this song

A rare song, a rattlin' song

Song from the bird

And the bird from the egg

And the egg in the nest

And the nest on the twig

And the twig on the branch

And the branch on the limb

And the limb on the tree

And the tree in the bog

And the bog down in the valley, oh

 

'Scotland the Brave'?

 

 

Hark when the night is falling

Hear! hear the pipes are calling,

Loudly and proudly calling,

Down thro' the glen.

There where the hills are sleeping,

Now feel the blood a-leaping,

High as the spirits of the old Highland men.

 

   Chorus:

   Towering in gallant fame,

   Scotland my mountain hame,

   High may your proud standards gloriously wave,

   Land of my high endeavour,

   Land of the shining river,

   Land of my heart for ever,

   Scotland the brave.

 

High in the misty Highlands,

Out by the purple islands,

Brave are the hearts that beat

Beneath Scottish skies.

Wild are the winds to meet you,

Staunch are the friends that greet you,

Kind as the love that shines from fair maiden's eyes.

 

    (chorus)

 

Far off in sunlit places,

Sad are the Scottish faces,

Yearning to feel the kiss

Of sweet Scottish rain.

Where tropic skies are beaming,

Love sets the heart a-dreaming,

Longing and dreaming for the homeland again.

 

     (chorus)

 

 

Origins: Ancient pipe tune

 

 

 

 

Witch of the Westmereland

 

There was the wounded knight

Who bore the rowan shield

Loud and cruel were the raven's cries

As they feasted on the field.

 

Saying, "Black water, cold and wierd,

Will never clean your wound.

There's none but the witch of the Westmereland

Can make thee healin' soon."

 

So turn, turn your stallion's head

Till his red mane flies in the wind.

And the rider of the moon goes by

And the bright star falls behind.

 

And queer was the paling moon

When shadow passed him by.

Below the hill with the brightest stars

When he heard the owl that cried.

 

Saying, "Why do you ride this way?

And where for pray ye here."

"I seek the witch of the Westmereland

Who dweels by the winding mere."

 

It's weary here by the owl's water

And teh misty breakard way.

Till thru the crack of the Quirkstone Pass

The winding water lay.

 

He said, "Lay down me brindled hound.

And rest me good grey hawk.

And leave my steed may graze thy fill

For I must dismount and walk."

 

"And come when you hear my horn

And answer swift because

For I fear the sun will rise this morn

You will serve me best of all."

 

And it's down to the water's brim.

He's born the rowan shield

And the golden rod he has cast in

To see what the lake might yield.

 

And wet she rose from the lake.

And fast and sleek went she -

One half the form of a maiden fair

With a jet black mare's body.

 

And loud long a trail he blew

Till his steed was by his side.

Overhead teh rgey hawk flew

And swiftly he did ride.

 

Saying, "Horse as well m' hound look out

Fetch me the jet black mare.

Stoop and strike me good grey hawk

And bring me the maiden fair."

 

She said, "Pray sheath thy silvery sword.

Lay down thy rowan shield.

For I see by the briny blood that flows

You've been wounded in the field."

 

And she stood in a gown of velvet blue

Bound 'round with a silver chain.

And she's kissed his pale lips once and twice

And three times round again.

 

She's bound his wound with the golden rod.

And fast in her arms he lay.

And he has risen hale and soon

With the sun high in the day.

 

She said, "Ride with your brindled hounds at heel.

And your good grey hawk at hand.

There's none that can harm the knight

Who's laid with the witch of the Westmereland."

 

 

 

 

The Barley Mow

 

Now here's good luck to the gill-pot

Good luck to the Barley Mow

Here's good luck to the gill-pot

Good luck to the Barley Mow

    The gill-pot

    Half-a gill

    Quarter-gill

    Nipperkin, and a round bowl

    And here's good luck, good luck

    Good luck to the Barley Mow

 

The tavern

 

The company

 

The brewer

 

The slavey

 

The daughter

 

The landlady

 

The landlord

 

The barrel

 

Half-a-barrel

 

The gallon

 

Half-a-gallon

 

Quart-pot

 

Pint-pot

 

Half-a-pint

 

Gill-pot

 

 

  Charlie Mopps

 

Beer, beer, beer, give us some beer, beer, beer,

  give us some beer, beer, beer.

A long time ago, way back in history,

When all there was to drink was nothing but cups of tea.

Along came a man, by the name of Charlie Mopps,

And he invented a wonderful drink, and he made it out of

hops.

 

Chorus:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, CHEERS!

He must have been an admiral, a sultan, or a king,

And to his praises we always sing.

Look what he has done for us, he's filled us up with cheer,

The lord bless Charlie Mopps, the man who invented beer,

    beer, beer,

  give us some beer, beer, beer,

  give us some beer, beer, beer.

 

The Lone West,The Three Steins,The Hole In The Wall as well,

One thing you can be sure of its Charlie's beer they sell.

So come along be lucky lad, at one o'clock it stops;

For five short seconds remember Charlie Mopps.

 

Chorus

 

A barrel of malt,bushels of hops,stir it round with a stick;

A froth of lubrication will make your voices thick.

Forty pints of Guinness a day will keep away the Quack.

It's only eight and seven a pint, two and six in tax.

 

Chorus

 

HORRAH! for Charlie Mopps!

 

 

The Night the Dun-Cow Burned

 

Some friends and i in a public house was playin' dominos one

   night.

When into the room a potman came, his face all ghastly

   white.

"What's up?" says Brown. "Have you seen a ghost? Have you

   seen you're Aunt Marriah?"

"Oh, me Aunt Marriah be buggered!" says he. "The bleedin'

   pub's on fire!"

 

"On fire!" says Brown. "What a bit o' luck! Everybody follow

   me!

It's down in the cellar! If the fire's not there, we'll have

   a grand old spree!"

So we all goes down with good old Brown, and the booze we

   could not miss.

And we hadn't been there ten minutes or more 'til we were

   quite like tihs:

 

Chorus:

There was Brown. UPSIDEDOWN! Moppin' up the whiskey on the

    floor.

Booze! Booze! The firemen cried as they came knockin' at the

    door.

(knock, knock)

Oh, don't let 'em in 'til it's all mopped up!

Somebody shouted, "MacIntire." (MacIntire!)

And we all got blue blind palatic drunk when they ol'

    Dun-Cow caught fire.

 

The Johnson ran over to the port wine tub, 'n gave it a few

    hard knocks.

(knock, knock)

' started takin' off his pantaloons; likewise his shoes 'n

    socks.

"Hold on!" says Brown. "That ain't allowed. You can't do

    that in here.

Don't be washin' your trotters in the port wine tub

When we've got some Guinness beer!

 

Chorus

 

And then there came a mighty crash! Half the bloody roof

    gave way.

We were crowned in the firemen's hose, though we were still

    quite gay.

So we got some sacks 'n some old tin tacks, 'n we buggered

    ourselves inside.

And we sat there drinking fine old Scotch 'til we were

    bleary-eyed.

 

Chorus

 

 

 

Four Nights Drunk

 

Now, as I come home

  So drunk I couldn't see, oh

'Twas there I spied the horse

  No horse should be there

I says unto my wife

  "Tell this to me, oh

How come the horse there?

  No horse should be there"

"You old fool, you silly fool

  Can't you plainly see, oh

Nothing but a milk cow

  My mother sent to me, oh"

Miles I have travelled

  A thousand miles and more, oh

Saddle on a milk cow

  I've never seen before

 

boots / flower pot / laces

 

hat / chamber pot / sweatband

 

baby / man / whiskers

 

Here's a Health

 

Kind friends and companions, come join me in rhyme

Come lift up your voices in chorus with mine

Let's drink and be merry, all grief to refrain

For we may or might never all meet here again

 

    Here's a health to the company and one to my lass

    Let's drink and be merry all out of one glass

    Let's drink and be merry, all grief to refrain

    For we may or might never all meet here again

 

Here's a health to the wee lass that I love so well

For kindness and beauty there's none can excel

She smiles on my countenance as she sits on my knee

There's no one on Earth as happy as me

 

Our ship lies at anchor, she is ready to dock

I wish her safe landing without any shock

And if ever we should meet again, by land or by sea

I will always remember your kindness to me

 

Whiskey-O - as sung by Donkey's Breakfast

 

    Whiskey-o, Johny-o

    Rise her up from down below

    Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o

    Up aloft this yard must go

    John rise her up from down below

 

Now whiskey is the life of man

Always was since the world began

 

Now whiskey gave me a broken nose

And whiskey made me pawn me clothes

 

Now whiskey is the life of man

Whiskey from that old tin can

 

I thought I heard the first mate say

I treats me crew in a decent way

 

A glass of whiskey all around

And a bottle full for the shanty man

 

(Spoken: Up she blew!)

 

 

Lilly the Pink

 

Oh, we'll drink a drink (a drink a drink)

to Lilly the Pink (the pink the pink)

The saviour of the human race . . .

For she invented medicinal compound,

most eficacious in every case!

 

Eleber Friers

Had sticky-out ears

And it made him awful shy

And so they game him medicinal compound;

Now he's learning how to fly

 

. . . .

 

Ebeneezer

Thought he was Julius Ceaser

And so they put him in a home,

Where they gave him medicinal compound;

Now he's emporer of Rome.

 

 

   Dan Malone -- Gemma Hasson

 

Oh, me name is Dan Malone

I've no place to call me home.

I'm an outcast in the land that I was born in.

And I'm weary of the load

On this long and lonely road.

How I hate to face the sunlight in the morning.

 

Oh the land is rich and wide

But hunger walks beside.

I'm an outcast in this proud land that bore me.

My life is almost done

Amd my courage is all gone

For the long road that stretches out before me.

 

Then that day so long ago

I met Kitty from me home.

Fair of face, her voice forever charmed me.

But she couldn't bear the load

On this long and lonely road.

Now her grave lies unident' outside Killarny.

 

I have begged from time to time.

I have drunk the golden wine.

I've fought men and I've done my share of lovin'.

I've met wise men; I've met fools.

But we've always known the rules.

A tinker man must always be a movin'.

 

Ah but maybe one day soon

When the heather is in bloom,

I lay my head upon the scented clover.

A man can't always fight,

And so a long winter's night

I'll go to sleep; my troubles will be over.

 

Then remember Dan malone

As I loe here all alone

Remember me to this proud land that bore me.

I can sleep my time away

In six feet of pauper's clay,

No open road lay stretching out before me.

 

 

I'll Tell me Ma - trad.

 

    I'll tell me Ma when I go home

    The boys won't leave the girls alone

    They'll pull my hair, they stole my comb

    Well, that's alright 'til I go home

    She is handsome, she is pretty

    She's the belle of Belfast City

    She is courting one, two, three

    Please won't you tell me, who is she?

 

Albert Mooney says he loves her

All the boys are fighting for her

They knock at the door and ring at the bell

Saying, "Oh my true love, are you well?"

Out she comes, as white as snow

Rings on her fingers, bells on her toes

Oul Jenny Murray say's she'll die

If she doesn't get the fellow with the rovin' eye

 

Let the wind and the rain and the hail blow high

And the snow come tumbling from the sky

She's as nice as apple pie

She'll get her own lad by and by

When she gets a lad of her own

She won't tell her Ma when she comes home

Let them all come as they will

For it's Albert Mooney she loves still

 

Oh No, Not I - as sung by Eileen McGann

 

A Newfoundland sailor went walking on the strand

He spied a pretty fair young maid and took her by the hand

"Oh, will you go to Newfoundland along with me" he cried

But the answer that she gave to him was

"Oh no, not I"

 

"If I were to marry you, on me would be the blame

My friends and relations would scorn me to shme

If you were born of noble blood and me of low degree

Do you think that I would you marry you?  And it's

Oh no, not me"

 

Six months being over, and seven coming nigh

This pretty fair young maid she began to look so shy

Her corsets would not meet and her apron would not tie

Made her think of all the times when she said

"Oh no, not I"

 

Eight months being over and nine coming on

This pretty fair young maiden she brought forth a son

She wrote a letter to her love to come home speedily

But the answer that he gave to her was

"Oh no, not me"

 

He said "My pretty fair maid, the best that you can do

Is to take your child upon your back and a-begging you may go

And it's when, if you get tired, you can sit you down and cry

And think of all the times when you said

"Oh no, not I"

 

So come all ye pretty fair maids a warning take by me

Don't ever put your trust in the green willow tree

For the leaves they will wither and the root it will die

Make you think of all the times when you said

"Oh no, not I"

 

Star of the County Down

 

In Bambridge Town in the County Down

One morning last July

>From a boreen Green came a sweet coleen

And she smiled as she passed me by

She looked so sweet from her two bare feet

To the sheen of her nut-brown hair

Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself

For to see I was really there

 

    From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay

    And from Galway to Dublin Town

    No maid I've seen like the brown coleen

    that I met in the County Down

 

As she onward sped, sure I scratched my head

And I looked with a feelin' rare

And I says, says I, to a passer-by

"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"

He smiled at me and he says, says he

"That's the gem of Ireland's crown

It's Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann

She's the star of the County Down"

 

At the harvest fair she'll be surely there

And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes

With my shoes shone bright and my hat cocked right

For a smile from my nut-brown rose

No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke

'Til my Plow turns rust-coloured brown

'Til a smiling bride by my own fireside

Sits the star of the County Down

 

Barrett's Privateers - Stan Rogers

 

Oh the year was 1778

    How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

A letter of marque came from the king

To the scummiest vessel I've ever seen

    God damn them all

    I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold

    We'd fire no guns, shed no tears

    Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier,

    The last of Barrett's Privateers

 

Oh Elcid Barrett cried the town

For twenty brave men all fishermen who

Would make for him the Antelope's crew

 

The Antelope sloop was a sickening site

She'd list to the port and her sails in rags

And the cook in the scuppers with the staggers and jags

 

On the King's birthday we put to sea

Ninety-one days to Montego Bay

Pumping like madmen all the way

 

On the ninety-sixth day we sailed again

When a great big Yankee hove in sight

With our cracked four-pounders we made to fight

 

The Yankee lay low down with gold

She was broad and fat and loose in staves

But to catch her took the Antelope two whole days

 

Then at length she stood two cables away

Our cracked four-pounders made awful din

But with one fat ball the Yank stove us in

 

The Antelope shook and pitched on her side

Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggs

And the main truck carried off both me legs

 

Now here I lay in my twenty-third year

It's been six years since we sailed away

And I just made Halifax yesterday

 

Blow the Man Down

 

Come all ye young fellows that follows the sea

    To me, way hey, blow the man down

Now please pay attention and listen to me

    Give me some time to blow the man down

 

I'm a deep water sailor just come from Hong Kong

You give me some whiskey, I'll sing you a song

 

When a trim Black Ball liner's preparing for sea (?)

On a trim Black Ball liner I wasted me prime

 

When a trim Black Ball liner preparing for sea

You'll split your sides laughing such sights you would see

 

There's tinkers and tailors, shoemakers and all

They're all shipped for sailors aboard the Black Ball

 

When a big Black Ball liner's a-leaving her dock

The boys and the girls on the pier-head do flock

 

Now, when the big liner, she's clear of land

Our bosun he roars out the word of command

 

Come quickly, lay aft to the break of the poop

Or I'll help you along with the toe of me boot

 

Pay attention to orders, now, you one and all

For see high above there flies the Black Ball

 

'Tis larboard and starboard, on deck you will sprawl

For kicking Jack Rogers commands the Black Ball

 

 

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

by Gordon Lightfoot

 

The legend lives on, from the Chippewa on down

Of the big lake they call Gitchee Gumee.

The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead

When the skies of november turn gloomy.

With a load of iron ore, 26,000 tons more

Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,

That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed,

When the gales of November came early.

 

The ship was the pride of the American side

Comin' back from some mill in Wisconsin.

As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most

With a crew and good captain well seasoned.

Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms,

When they left fully loaded for Cleveland,

And late that night when the ship's bell rang

Could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

 

The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound,

And a wave broke over the railing,

And every man knew as the captain did too,

'twas the Witch of November come stealin'.

The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait,

When the gales of November came slashin'.

When afternoon came it was freezin' rain,

In the face of a hurricane west wind.

 

When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck

Sayin' "Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya".

At seven p.m., the main hatchway caved in,

he said "Fellas, it's been good to know ya".

The captain wired in he had water comin' in

And the good ship and crew was in peril,

And later that night when its lights went out of sight

Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

 

Does anyone know where the love of God goes,

When the waves turn the minutes to hours?

The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay

If they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'em.

They might have split up or they might have capsized,

They may have broke deep and took water.

And all that remains is the faces and the names

Of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

 

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings

In the rooms of her ice water mansions.

Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams,

The islands and bays are for sportsmen.

And farther below Lake Ontario

Takes in what Lake Erie can send her.

And the iron boats go as the mariners all know

With the gales of November remembered.

 

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed

in the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral

The church bell chimed 'til it rang 29 times,

For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

Of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee

Superior, they said, never gives up her dead,

When the gales of November come early.

 

 

 

Rollin' Down to Old Maui

 

It's a damn tough life full of toil and strife

  We whalermen undergo

And we don't give a damn when the gale is done

  How hard the winds do blow

We're homeward bound from the Arctic Sound

  With a good ship taught and free

And we don't give a damn when we drink our rum

  With the girls of Old Maui

 

    Rolling down to Old Maui, me boys

    Rolling down to Old Maui

    We're homeward bound from the Arctic Ground

 

Once more we sail with a Northerly gale

  Through the ice, and wind, and rain

Them cononut fronds, them tropical lands

  We soon shall see again

Six hellish months we passed away

  On the cold Kamchatka sea

But now we're bound from the Arctic ground

    Rolling down to Old Maui

 

Once more we sail the Northerly gale

  Towards our Island home

Our mainmast sprung, our whaling done

  And we ain't got far to roam

Our stans'l booms is carried away

  What care we for that sound

A living gale after us

  Thank God we're homeward bound

 

How soft the breeze through the island trees

  Now the ice is far astern

Them native maids, them tropical glades

  Is awaiting our return

Even now their big, brown eyes look out

  Hoping some fine to see

Our baggy sails running 'fore the gales

  Rolling down to Old Maui

 

We'll heave the lead where old Diamond Head

  Looms up on old Wahu

Our masts and yards are sheathed with ice

  And our desks are hid from view

The horrid ice of the sea-caked isles

  That deck the Artcic sea

Are miles behind in the frozen wind

  Since we steered for Old Maui

 

And now we're anchoured in the bay

  With the Kanakas all around

With chants and soft aloha-oos

  They greet us homeward bound

And now ashore we'll have good fun

  We'll paint them beaches red

Awakening in the arms of an island maid

  With a big fat aching head

 

Zulaika    -from the singing of Oscar Brand

 

Zulaika was lovely to see

A young Persian maiden was she

She lived in Baghdad where the men are all bad

But none was so bad as she

    Repeat: She lived in Baghdad where the men are all bad

            But none was so bad as she

 

Her husband was very old

With millions in silver and gold

He locked her away by night and by day

For Persians are very bold

     

On her head she wore a turban

Which came from the fields of Iran

Where no one could see she kept a small key

Which she threw out again and again

 

The first time she threw out the key

It fell by the old banyon tree

She sighed and she cried till the door opened wide

And in walked her lover, Ali

 

The next time she threw the key out

It fell by the old water spout

She sighed and she cried till the door opened wide

And in walked her lover, Mahout

 

She threw out the ket once again

Expecting her lover Suleiman

She sighed and she cried, then the door opened wide

And in walked a whole caravan

 

The leader bowed his head low

Waiting her wishes to know

At last she did say, "Well most of you stay

--But the Children and Camels must go!"

 

She finished with all of the men

Her appetite not at an end

She sighed and she cried, and flung the door wide

"Bring the children and the camels back in!"

 

 

The Maid on the Shore

 

There is a young maiden

She lives all alone

She lives all aloneon the shore-o

There's nothing she can find

To comfort her mind

But to roam all alone on the shore, shore, shore

But to roam all alone on the shore.

 

'Twas of the young captain

Who sailed the salt sea

Let the wind blow high, blow low-o.

I will die, I will die,

The young captain did cry

If I don't have that maid on the shore.

 

Well I have lots of silver

I have lots of gold.

I have lots of costly ware-os.

I'll divide, I'll divide

With my jolly ship's crew

If they row me that maid on the shore.

 

After much persuassion

They got her aboard,

Let the wind blow high, blow low.

They replaced her away

In his cabin below.

And here's a due to all sorrow and care.

 

They replaced her away

In his cabin below.

Let the wind blow high, blow low-o.

She's so pretty and neat.

She's so sweet and complete,

She sung the captain and sailors to sleep.

 

Then she robbed him of silver

She robbed him of gold

She robbed him of costly ware-os.

Then she took his broadsword

Instead of an oar.

And paddled her way to the shore.

 

Me men must be crazy

Me men must be mad.

Me men must be deep in dispair-o.

For to let you away

>From my cabin so gay.

And to paddle your way to the shore.

 

Well your men was not crazy.

Your men was not mad.

Your men was not deep in dispair-o.

I deluded your sailors

As well as yourself.

I'm a maiden again on the shore.

 

Well there is a young maiden

She lives all alone.

She lives all alone on the shore-o.

There's nothing she can find

To comfort her mind.

But to roam all alone on the shore.

 

 

 

Date:    Thu, 19 Nov 1992 17:28:40 -0600 (CST)

From: Z_BERRYRW at CCSVAX.SFASU.EDU (RICK Z_BERRYRW at CCSVAX.SFASU.EDU)

Subject: REQUEST: Drinking songs and loud obnoxious things

 

Greetings,

 

I would be most pleased to share with you those songs which I know.

I cannot, however, attest to their period.

Most I would suspect are after period.

 

I will herein list the titles I can remember, and you

can then tell me if any are interesting/new to you :)

 

The Lusty Smith (bawdy, but no explicit lyrics)

Cruiscin Lan (Irish Gaelic, prob post period, but cool)

Ball of Balanore (aka B of Invermuir)  Bawdy, or Nasty Choruses

I'm a Rover

The Ramblin' Rover

Three Jolly Coachmen

The Bonnie Black Hare

The Drunken Scotsman (or, The Blue Ribbon)

and of course,

The Moose Song (banned repeatedly)

 

My mind is blanking, I must know others...

I suppose I remember others when in the SCA mood...

 

Drop me a line if you'd like the lyrics and tune for any of these...

 

--Wolfrick Thorrinson

Shire of Graywood, Ansteorra

mka Rick z_berryrw at ccsvax.sfasu.edu

 

 

From: David Schroeder <ds4p+ at andrew.cmu.edu>

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Knight & Unicorn Song

Date: Wed,  8 Sep 1993 22:20:16 -0400

Organization: Doctoral student, Industrial Administration, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA

 

Greetings --

 

Excerpts from netnews.rec.org.sca: 8-Sep-93 SCA Music FTP? by Jade

Dragon at vax1.mankato.msus.edu writes:

> I'm looking for the words to a song I once had the words to --

> The Knight and the Unicorn.  I'd appreciate any help I can get.

 

Only too glad to oblige -- I wrote it quite a few years ago... :-)

 

THE KNIGHT AND THE UNICORN               by Bertram of Bearington

=================================================================

 

There was a knight, a lusty knight, a randy knight was he,

He had eleven mistresses and bastards thirty-three...

He indulged in every excess, yes, in each licencious whim,

So you should have seen his jaw drop when a unicorn chose _him_!

 

Please go away my gold-maned friend, be gone I do declare!

My reputation will be shot with all the ladies fair.

I fear you've got the wrong man, of my friend with coat so fine...

I haven't been a virgin since I reached the age of nine!

 

I've led a very lusty life, falls winters, springs, and summers.

I have no peers with "pool weapons," yes I'll take on all "comers"

So go away fair unicorn, if not I'll be grief stricken --

The rampant cock upon my shield will turn into a chicken!

 

The ladies all reject me thinking I'm so much bravado.

There must be twenty knights around with _chastity_ their motto.

So go away fair unicorn, yes please leave me alone...

The ladies will not lay with me with _you_ for chaperone!

 

Please go away my gold-maned friend, be gone and do no tarry.

You'll find the kind of man you seek up in the mon-as-tery.

No wait, they're not the kind of monk's who're celibately sleeping,

Instead of Mass and priestly vows it's _mistresses_ they're keeping!

 

The unicorn said not a word but with a soft "tap tap"

She curved her hooves around his legs, put her head upon his lap.

The knight looked in her deep brown eyes and said, "Why me, why you?"

The unicorn demurely said "My lord I'm horney tooo-ooooo!"

 

There was a knight, a lusty knight, a randy knight was he,

He took to wife a unicorn

And they're both quite happy.

 

 

The music is available in the second volume of the Elf Hill Times

Songbook, which I believe Alban St. Albans sells.  Also, so oldtimers

in Northshield might well have copies of "Friar Bertram's Original

Song Book" that includes it.  Happy singing.

 

   My best -- Bertram

 

 

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

From: dickerso at fester.dell.com (Russell Dickerson - X2787)

Subject: Filk of "Rodeo"

Organization: StorageTek

Date: Thu, 9 Sep 1993 16:19:38 GMT

 

First of all, I dont care who dosen't like Filks so flames > /dev/null.

Any positive feedback > dickerso at gomez.stortek.com

 

My wife (H.L. Jessica de Andalucia) and I (H.L. Russell Jervis) wrote

this filk a couple of months ago and sang it first for some friends

at the Ansteorran Corronation...

 

                              "Tournament"

                   A "filk" of "Rodeo" by Garth Brooks

             By H.L. Jessica de Andalucia and H.L. Russell Jervis

                                  1993

 

This song is sung (1), Chorus, (2), Chorus, (3), Chorus and final line.

If you know the song, you'll be able to sing it right off.

 

Chorus

------

 

E

Well it's belts and blood,

E

Its the dust and mud

            A                 E

It's the roar of the gathered crowd

E

Its the pain in his back

E

From the lightning attack

B#

He'll throw in the final round.

E

It's sword and shield, it's an argeant field

     A              E

It's armor and ligament

E

It's the power and the fame and the joy and the pain

B#

And they call the thing a tournament.

 

1)

  E

  His armor's cold and polished

      A

  His wounds have almost healed,

        A                 E

  And she'd give up a peerage

          A                E

  Just to keep him off the field.

         E

  Well she knows his loves in Namron,

        A

  And she knowns thats where he's set.

          E

  Well it ain't no lady, flesh and blood,

  B#

  Its that damn old Coronet.

(alternate: Its that damn Crown Tournament)

 

 

2) She does her best to hold him,

   When the herald makes the call

   But that brass hat it drives him

   And her back's against the wall.

   And it's "So long, girl, I'll see you"

   When it's time to armor up.

   You know a lady wants her fighter,

   Like he wants his tournament.

 

3) It'll drive a squire crazy,

   It'll drive a knight insane.

   And he'll sell of everything he owns

   Just to pay to play the game.

   And a broken home and some broken bones

   Is all he's gonna get.

   For all the years that he spent chasing,

   That ducal coronet.

 

Final Line..

  E

  It's the power and the fame and the blows to the brain,

  B#

  And they call the thing a tournament.

--

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Russell Dickerson Unix/X Programmer StorageTek - Customer Emulation Lab

(303) 673-5409 ---REPLY TO>>> dickerso at cpat.stortek.com <<<!!!!--------

>>>>>> If it isn't broke, we obviously haven't tested it yet. <<<<<<<<<

 

 

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

From: rvoris at world.std.com (Rebecca A Voris)

Subject: SCA Folklore song (was Re: How I swear in period and other fun things)

Organization: The World Public Access UNIX, Brookline, MA

Date: Fri, 12 Nov 1993 02:57:26 GMT

 

 

All right, Yaakov.  You can stop twisting my arm now...

 

I wrote this song a few years ago for a silly song contest at an

event.  It is based on a story I heard, which supposedly happened

"somewhere in the Middle Kingdom".

 

The chorus should be sung to the "anvil chorus". The verses should be

sung to a tune I made up.  If you put your ear really close to the

monitor, you might be able to hear me humming.

 

As I walked out one May morning

To the tourney field so green

I saw a knight prepare to fight

But certain gear all knights hold dear

Was nowhere to be seen

 

CHORUS:

Men of iron don't require

A cup to guard their jewels

But I'll wear this iron pan

To honor marshalls' rules

 

He had no lack of strength or skill

His sword on helms did ring

He would not yield the tourney field

He would overthrow each valiant blow

And so he became their king

 

The king he had a squire who thought

That as a springtime jest

He'd give the king an iron pan

That it should guard with metal hard

The part the Queen liked best

 

The next tourney the king did wear

That pan upon his belt

And wise was he, for in one bout

From foe he got an ill-timed shot

That verily he felt

 

The king now wears a cup whenever

He intends to fight

He learned his lesson well that day

And we suppose, thought no-one knows

The Queen slept well that night

 

A minstrel who was on the field

Said "Pray, good folks, a word.

What we have seen here illustrates

It goes to show, as wise men know,

The pan's mightier than the sword."

 

 

Godith Anyon

Carolingia

rvoris at world.std.com

 

 

From: maf at therev.uucp (Mark A. Foster)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Lyrics to The Herald's Complaint

Keywords: Lyrics  Copyright

Date: Sun, 28 Nov 93 16:37:52 PST

Organization: InterContinental Ballistic Tacos

 

   Baldwin of Erebor, MKA Derek Foster, is my brother. Although

he does not read this newsgroup, I do, as do many of his friends.

Violations of the copyrights on his work WILL come to his

attention.

 

   I called Derek at home in California this afternoon and asked

for permission to post the lyrics to The Herald's Complaint.  He

graciously granted his permission to post, provided the lyrics

would not be used in publications or recordings without his

permission.

 

   The following lyrics are from the volume "Broadside of a

Bard", Copyright 1979 by Derek Foster.  Posted to rec.org.sca

with the author's express permission.  Retransmission of the

contents of this posting, or use of this material in performance

or publication for compensation or remuneration of any kind,

without the author's consent, is a violation of copyright laws

and can result in prosecution.

 

[Author's note: This one I can blame on no one but myself. It

was first performed at the Outlandish Coronet Tourney in October

of AS XII.]

 

                     The Herald's Complaint

                       Baldwin of Erebor

 

 

When I was just a pursuivant at Herald High

I studied with a conscience as the days went by;

I listened to the lectures and took note of evry phrase

And I gave my life to learning the correct heraldic ways.

 

But with ev'ning come and classes closed and midnight candles burnt,

I would lie in bed and hearken back to all that I had learnt,

And as I lay near slumber's door beneath the candle's gleam

An eerie vision came to me appearing in a dream - It was

 

   a dove displayed upon a billet chequy or and gules

Between a pair of cockatrices clad in motley like a fool's.

Their feathers were dimidiated with a tree eradicated

Limbed and fructed counter compony.

 

 

 

Beside the field of honor at a tournament

I was resting from my labors in the herald's tent

When my reverie was broken by a newly-belted knight

Who had come for some assurance that his coat of arms was right.

 

I sat him down and talked to him about simplicity

And shared with him the good advice that had been taught to me.

"My lord," he said, "My thanks to thee, you really have been kind.

Now let me tell you of the coat of arms I have in mind.  I want

 

   a dove displayed upon a billet chequy or and gules

Between a pair of cockatrices clad in motley like a fool's.

Their feathers are dimidiated with a tree eradicated

Limbed and fructed counter compony."

 

 

 

"Your blazon is impossible," was my response.

"It's so complex, the college would reject it at the nonce.

It breaks the rules of heraldry; it can't be done, you see.

Besides, the arms you've blazoned have been registered to me.  I have a

 

   a dove displayed upon a billet chequy or and gules

Between a pair of cockatrices clad in motley like a fool's.

Their feathers are dimidiated with a tree eradicated

Limbed and fructed counter compony -

 

And those are the arms that belong to me!"

 

 

Lyrics and music copyright 1978, 1979 by Derek Foster.

Reproduced and posted by Mark A. Foster, with the author's permission.

 

   ---------------------------------------------------------------------

    Mark A. Foster -> maf at therev.UUCP -> {backbone}!unmvax!bbx!therev!maf

                                   or -> bbx!therev!maf at unmvax.cs.unm.edu

 

 

From: eabbott at unlinfo.unl.edu (eric abbott)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca,alt.music.filk

Subject: Re: Herald's song

Date: 21 Nov 1993 20:11:58 GMT

Organization: University of Nebraska--Lincoln  

 

ian at cs.brandeis.edu (Xiphias Gladius) writes:

 

>chris at keris.demon.co.uk (Chris Croughton) writes:

 

>>I am looking for a song that I heard in the SCA. It was apparently

>>written by a herald some time ago.  It's about a person who wants to

>>register an 'impossible' blazon, and the description (the chorus) goes

>>something like:

 

>>    It was a:

>>    Dove displayed upon a billet checky Or and Gules,

>>    Between a pair of cockatrices dressed in motley like a fool's.

>>    Their feathers were (?), with a tree eradicated,

>>    Limbed and fruited counter company.

 

 

I believe this is a personal badge of Baldwin of Erebor, maybe Arval

could clarify this.  

 

     A dove displayed upon a billet checky or & gules,

     a pair of cockitrices clad in motley like the fools,

     their wings dimidated with a tree eradicated,

     limbed and fructed countercompony!

 

or so to the best of my memory!

 

Does anyone have the words to the herald's song sung by Master Laurel,

something along the lines of. . .

 

     Because red is for purity, white is for blood,

     and lions and roses are common as mud.

     and unicorns varied can only be carried,

     by those who survive a great flood!!

 

Memory fades with age....

 

in Service, Salvador

 

 

From: hrjones at uclink.berkeley.edu (Heather Rose Jones)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca,alt.music.filk

Subject: Re: Herald's song

Date: 22 Nov 1993 01:38:46 GMT

Organization: University of California, Berkeley

 

In article <ian.753904805 at cs.brandeis.edu>,

Xiphias Gladius <ian at cs.brandeis.edu> wrote:

>

>I heard this song once; the story goes that the blazon was made and

>registered to the songwriter.  It is apparently TRULY hideous.  

>

>May I ask that this be posted?  It seems to be public domain, since

>the Carolingian Heralds use the song in their heraldry demonstrations.

>

>     - Ian

 

The song is NOT PUBLIC DOMAIN! It is copyright 1978, 1979 by Derek Foster

(known in the SCA as Master Baldwin of Erebor, a Caidan). It would be

inappropriate to publicly publish the lyrics without his permission.

 

Keridwen ferch Morgan Glasfryn

 

 

From: hrjones at uclink.berkeley.edu (Heather Rose Jones)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca,alt.music.filk

Subject: Re: Herald's song

Date: 22 Nov 1993 01:46:42 GMT

Organization: University of California, Berkeley

 

In article <2coi2e$q7j at crcnis1.unl.edu>,

eric abbott <eabbott at unlinfo.unl.edu> wrote:

 

>Does anyone have the words to the herald's song sung by Master Laurel,

>something along the lines of. . .

>

>     Because red is for purity, white is for blood,

>      [etc.]

>in Service, Salvador

 

It's available in a collection entitled "Songbook Pusher - Songs by Heather

Rose Jones", found at fine filk dealers everywhere (by definition, if they

don't carry it, they aren't fine).

 

Keridwen ferch Morgan Glasfryn

(Heather Rose Jones)

 

 

From: jab2 at stl.stc.co.uk (Jennifer Ann Bray)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: greensleeves lyrics as published 1584

Date: 2 Jun 94 11:51:39

Organization: STC Technology Ltd., London Road, Harlow, UK.

 

These lyrics come from "A Handful of Pleasant Delights" by Clement

Robinson and Divers Others originally published in 1584

 

my edition was published by Dover in 1965

it is edited by Hyder E. Rollins

Standard Book Number 486-21382-X

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 65-20488

 

It took me a while to find where I put the book. I hope the lyrics

aren't arriving too late to be useful to the person who wanted them.

 

Jennifer/Rannveik

 

Vanaheim Vikings

 

---------------------------------------------------------------

 

A new Courtly Sonet, of the Lady Green

sleeues. To the new tune of Greensleeues.

 

Greensleeues was all my ioy,

   Greensleeues was my delight:

Greensleeues was my hart of gold,

   And who but my Ladie Greensleeues.

 

Alas my loue, ye do me wrong,

   to cast me off discurteously:

And I haue loued you so long,

   Delighting in your companie.

Greensleeues was all my ioy,

   Greensleeues was my delight:

Greensleeues was my hart of gold,

   And who but my Ladie Greensleeues.

 

I haue been readie at your hand,

   to grant what euer you would craue.

I haue both waged life and land,

   your loue and good will for to haue.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

I bought thee kerchers to thy head,

   that were wrought fine and gallantly:

I kept thee both at boord and bed,

   Which cost my purse wel fauouredly,

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

I bought thee peticotes of the best,

   the cloth so fine as fine might ve:

I gaue thee iewels for thy chest,

   and all this cost I spent on thee.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

They smock of silk, both faire and white,

   with gold embrodered gorgeously:

They peticote of Sendall right:

   and thus I bought thee gladly.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

They girdle of gold so red,

   with pearles bedecked sumptuously:

The like no other lasses had,

   and yet thou wouldst not loue me,

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

They purse and eke thy gay guilt kniues,

   they pincase gallent to the eie:

No better wore the Burgesse wiues,

   and yet thou wouldst not louse me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

They crimson stockings all of silk,

   with golde all wrought aboue the knee,

Thy pumps as white as was the milk,

   and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

They gown was of the grossie green,

   the sleeues of Satten hanging by:

Which made thee be our haruest Queen,

   and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

Thy garters fringed with the golde,

   And siluer aglets hanging by,

Which made thee blithe for to beholde,

   and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

My gayest gelding I thee gaue

   To ride where euer liked thee,

No Ladie euer was so braue,

   and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

My men were clothed all in green,

   And they did euer wait on thee:

Al this was gallant to be seen,

   and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

They set thee vp, they took thee downe,

   they serued thee with humilitie,

Thy foote might not once touch the ground,

   and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

For euerie morning when thou rose,

   I sent thee dainties orderly:

To cheare thy stomack from all woes,

   and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

Thou couldst desire no earthly thing.

   But stil thou hadst it readily:

Thy musicke still to play and sing,

   And yet thou wouldst not loue me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

And who did pay for all this geare,

   that thou didst spend when pleased thee?

Euen I that am reiected here,

  and thou disdainest to loue me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

Wel, I wil pray to God on hie,

   that thou my constancie maist see:

And that yet once before I die,

   thou wilt vouchsafe to loue me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

 

Greensleeues now farewel adue,

   God I pray to prosper thee:

For I am stil they louer true,

   come once again and loue me.

      Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.

                   Finis.

---------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

From: brgarwood at aol.com (BRgarwood)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re:  Help with Song

Date: 6 Apr 1995 23:59:37 -0400

 

The proper name is Karaelia's Song,  It was written by Master Don

Iolo FitzOwen who resides in Brwyn Gwlad, Ansteorra (Austin, Tx)

There is a song with the same tune written by Iolo's students about

him. If I can find it in my files I'll post it.

BTW the words are correct.

============

I heard Brendan from Nordskogen sing a parody about Iolo, and was

fortunate enough to have my tape recorder running.  This Iolo must be a

pretty special fellow to inspire such words.

 

  Down in Brwyn Gwlad town lives a jolly good fellow

whos figure is really a comical sight,

for his forhead is bald and his eyes will amaze you, and his gold-colored

codpiece is really quite bright.

 

He wears baggy pants, and a ragged old tunic

His shoes give his tootsies a room with a view.

And he acts very silly, and does antler dances

And answeres when called, by the name "Master Moo"

(he and his wife moo at each other)

 

His rel name is Iolo, Don Iolo Fitzowen

His white sash and Laurel are both well desererved,

For he'll build you a crossbow like those in museums

Or thrash you at swashbuckling without reserve.

 

He's a shaper of wood, and of bone and of leather,

A shaper of souls with a word to the wise.

He has carved standing stones to remember the fallen,

and he'll sing you a song to bring tears to your eyes.

Of the Great Selke's (sp) bride and a cruel lass name Jenny,

Karelia's lover and Merlin's gay flute.

And the old standing stones and a host of Welsh heros

Spring once more to life when he picks up his lute.

 

He's a craftsman, composer, a foole and a fighter,

A good friend to many, He'll come when you call.

And he'll dance in the garden, and sing in the moonlight

Like a nitingale piping in Grennforest Hall.

 

There it is, from memory, not having heard it for over a year, and still

parts of it choke me up a bit.   I hope I got it right.

 

Berwyn

Lord Berwyn AEthelbryght of Ackley, Midlands Herald

Rudivale shire, Northshield, Midrealm

 

 

From: corrie at solutions.solon.com (Corrie Bergeron)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: Help with Song

Date: 10 Apr 1995 06:42:26 GMT

 

Greetings, all!  I am Brendan O Corraidhe, Permanent Friend of Iolo

(therin lies a tale) and the composer of "Iolo's Song."

 

This is the tale of the song:

 

I had known Don Iolo for a number of years, and held him then (as I do

now) in high esteem.  Although we never had a formal teacher-student

relationship, I learned a great many things from him.  The intricacies of

a crossbow, any number of songs, and how to be both silly and dignified.

 

The song wrote itself while I was on the way from the Shire of the

Shadowlands to Bryn Gwlad for an event.  As I was leaving town, I

thought, gee, it would be kind of neat to write a gentle parody of Iolo,

and do it with his tune.  Hmmm...  And a line appeared.  I mentally filed

it away, but it was immediately joined by another, then another..within

half a mile I had no choice but to take out pen and paper and start

taking dictation.  By the time I got to Brywn Gwlad a hour and a half

later, the song was 90% complete.  I finished it that night (It was a

Friday) when I was awakened at 1:00 AM (or so I recall) by the final pieces.

 

Saturday night at feast I performed it.  Master Don Iolo could do nothing

but sit there and take it.  He glared at me.  he wiggled his ears.  He

bugged his eyes.  I kept singing, unflappable.  He put both his pinkies

in his nostrils.  I sang on.  He withrew his pinkies and ceremoniously

put them into his mouth, drawing it into a grimace.  At that I stumbled.

 

Later, he told me that he would fain sue me for libel except that I could

prove every word.  And I can.  <G>

 

I have written a lot in my fifteen years of writing and performing in the

SCA.  Of that collection, there are probably only two or three pieces

that I consider to be truly exceptional.  "Iolo's Song"  is one of them.

 

A small errata:

 

:She has grown straight and handsome and sorcerous all

She s/b they, referring to the five children

 

: And answeres when called, by the name "Master Moo"

called s/b summoned, it scans better

 

: (he and his wife moo at each other)

They do...they really do.  He's Mr. Moo, She's Mrs Moo.

 

: A shaper of souls with a word to the wise.

souls s/b hearts

 

: Karelia's lover and Merlin's gay flute.

Merlin's s/b Myrddyn from Spring Strathspey

 

: Like a nitingale piping in Grennforest Hall.

Echoing the last line of the original.

 

: There it is, from memory, not having heard it for over a year, and still

: parts of it choke me up a bit.   I hope I got it right.

 

Berwyn, your memory is astonishing!  

--

****************

Corrie Bergeron

Brendan O Corraidhe CIM OW OST HH MoSS EIEIO

corrie at solon.com

****************

 

 

From: Sharon Henderson (10/25/95)

To: Mark.S Harris

RE>YKYITSCAW...

 

Good milord,

 

      As you have asked, so have I done; enjoy!  The tune is "The Ash

Grove," which can  found in many folk song books.

 

      Cheers,

      Meli

 

 

WELSH HISTORY 101

by Heather Rose Jones

 

If ever you wander out by the Welsh border

Come stop by and see me and all of my kin

I'm Morgan ap Daffyd ap Gwion ap Hywell

Ap Ifor ap Madoc ap Rhodri ap Gwyn

 

  We'll feast you on mutton and harp for your pleasure

  And give you a place to sleep out of the cold

  Or maybe we'll meet you out on the dark roadway

  And rob you of horses and weapons and gold

 

My neighbor from England has come across raiding

Slain six of my kinsmen and burned down my hall

It cannot be borne this offense and injustice

I've only killed four of his, last I recall

 

  I'll send for my neighbors, Llewellyn and Owain

  We'll cut him down as for the border he rides

  But yesterday Owain stole three of my cattle

  And first I'll retake them and three more besides

 

We need a strong prince to direct our resistance

Heroic, impartial, of noble degree

My brother's wife's fourth cousin's foster-son, Gruffydd

Is best for the job as I'm sure you'll agree

 

  What matter that Rhys is the old prince's nephew

  He's exiled to Ireland and will not return

  I know this for every time boats he is building

  I send my spies money to see that they burn

 

Last evening my brother and I were at war

Over two feet of land on a boundary we share

But early this morning, I hear he's been murdered

I'll not rest until I avenge him, I swear

 

  Yes, we are just plain folk who mind our own business

  Honest and loyal and full of good cheer

  So if you should wander our by the Welsh border

  Come stop by and meet all the friendly folk here

 

Copyright Heather Rose Jones, all rights reserved

This work has been included in the Digital Tradition by express

  permission of the author

 

 

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Date: Mon, 13 Nov 95 05:57:30 LOC

Organization: The 8-Ball Cult (817)613-0153 (52:1850/101)

From: Finnian <finnian at lasernet.com>

Subject: FIGHTING HAMSTERS, ANYONE

 

-=> Quoting Erin Copeland to All <=-

 

EC> Fm IntrNet:  erin at sysiphus.math.ethz.ch [rec.org.sca]

 

EC> Green things and more green things,

 

EC> Does anyone have the words to the Calontir Fighting Hamster song? I

EC> can only remember one verse and the chorus (and probably not

EC> correctly).

 

EC> Please, please, pretty please with lots chocolate piled on top?

 

Here you are friend, in its entirety

 

THE HAMSTER SONG

-Chrystofer Kensor & Andrixios Seljukroctonis

(Tune: "Ballad of the Green Berets")

 

Fighting hamsters from the sky

Some will live and some will die

Hamsters have nothing to fear

The fighting hamsters of Calontir

 

Silver tape upon their backs

A broadsword is all they lack

Fifty hamsters fight a war

They won't win without fifty more

 

Trained by jumping off a roof

Trained in combat tooth to tooth

Hamsters fight both far and near

The fighting hamsters of Calontir

 

Riding high upon our helms

Their war cry it overwhelms

All opponents become weak

At their fearsome squeaky squeak

 

Back at home Paval waits

His fighting hamster has met its fate

He has died while drinking beer

The fighting hamsters of calontir

 

Once again its off to war

This time we number a dozen more

We will fight for those in need

so this year it's with Caid

 

Fighting hamsters jump from planes

Fighting hamsters fall like rain

Some will live but most will die

Stupid creatures cannot fly

 

 

I hope you have fun with it........:)

 

Finnian

 

 

From: larkin at webstar.net (Lord Larkin O'Kane)

To: ansteorra at eden.com

Subject: The Rising of the Star

Date: Thu, 17 Apr 1997 17:35:46 GMT

 

Well folks, Don Alden's massive memory has been consulted and

augmented by Master William Blackfox (much thanks to both).  The

result is supplied herewith. You will note that only eight of the

eighteen verses have credits.  If you know who wrote the others, I

would be most appreciatived if you would tell me. private email to

larkin at webstar.net please (no need to waste bandwidth).

 

Larkin

===

 

                          The Rising of the Star

          Tune: The Rising Of The Moon

 

Oh, now tell me, folk in Atenveldt, oh, have you heard it said

That the Sun upon your banner is now turned to bloody red.

We're coming from the Southlands; you don't know who we are:

We're your friends from Ansteorra by the rising of the Star.

 

By the rising of the Star, by the rising of the Star,

We're your friends from Ansteorra by the rising of the Star.

 

Oh now, many a foe has tried us on many a bloody field;

A precious few have beaten us, because we never yield.

We've powder for our cannon, grapeshot and boiling tar.

We're your friends from Ansteorra by the rising of the Star

Chorus

 

Oh, now  tell me, Midrealm fighters, now look above your head:

The Dragon on your banner, it seems it's lying dead.

We're coming from the southlands; you don't know who we are:

We're your friends from Ansteorra by the rising of the Star.

Chorus

 

Now, we have got Sir Simonn, who's called the Mountaingate;

That isn't silver acne, he's just dressed out in his plate.

He's got a shield of iron; a sword made from a spar.

He's a Count of Ansteorra by the rising of the Star.

Chorus

 

We've got Duke Lloyd von Eaker, who's mighty for his size:

He shrugs off broken fingers and he'll mutilate your thighs.

He'll not be take lightly, though he stands but five-foot-four;

he's a viper clad in motley by the rising of the Star.

Chorus

 

And then there is Duke Inman, whose name is known with fear:

He's deadly with a broadsword, but he's murder with a spear.

He's won the Crown fou... uhh... five..... no... six times now,

not even breathing hard--

He's the Once and Every Other King of the rising of the Star.

Chorus

 

I'll tell you of Sir Dinar, who won the fourteenth Crown,

When Duke Lloyd and Duke Inman yielded in the final round.

The shout went up to Heaven and echoed near and far,

"Vivat for Ansteorra! and the rising of the Star."

Chorus

 

And of course, there is Duke Sigmund, of winged feet renowned,

With shades and Celtic cowboy hat to wear beneath his crown.

He's left this mortal realm, now; we see him from afar,

For he's gone on to BOD-hood in a black and gold golf car.

Chorus

 

Now I'll introduce Don Tivar, who bears a rapier keen.

His sword is dedicated to the service of the Queen.

A Pelican, a White Scarf, a gentleman by far,

He can parry anything--except the rising of the Star.

Chorus

 

Now the Ansteorran summers are seven months in length.

The rivers lose their water and the fighters lose their strength.

They're swooning in the tourneys and fainting in the wars.

We long for cool November in the rising of the Star.

Chorus

 

Oh, the Ansteorran weather, it always aims to please.

The temperature is ninety-two, with snow up to your knees.

There's hurricanes, tornadoes, and rains of boiling tar--

It's always something different by the rising of the Star.

Chorus

 

Oh, the Ansteorran landscape is pleasing to the eye,

But there's thorns upon the flowers and there's thunder in the

sky.

The animals wear armour; though it sounds a bit bizarre,

It's just home sweet Ansteorra by the rising of he Star.

Chorus

 

I'll ask you all a riddle they'll be talking of for years:

What stands on twenty-three legs by the side of Calontir?

It helped take the Eastrealm banner at the 19th Pennsic War--

It's your friends from Ansteorra by the rising of the Star.

Chorus

 

Oh the Ansteorran ladies, they'll make you lovely wives,

But check their skirts and bodices, for they always carry knives.

Theysay this ironmongery their beauty will not mar;

They'll thrill you or they'll kill you by the rising of the Star.

Chorus

 

And the Ansteorran children are ever so polite,

But don't turn your back upon them, for the little (darlings)

bite!

Their cunning none surpasses; you know they'll travel far.

They're the heirs of Ansteorra by the rising of the Star.

Chorus

 

Now the bards of Ansteorra strive for authenticity,

So they'll sing you Irish drinking songs of the nineteenth

century.

Now they're fun to sing, and clever, but they've gone too bloody

far

When "The Risin' of the Moon" becomes "The Rising of the Star"!

Chorus

 

Oh, we're just psychotic killers; we love to maim and gunch.

Don't pack us any baskets--we'll just eat your dead for lunch!

We're brothers of the Normans and daughters of the Czars;

We're your friends from Ansteorra by the rising of the Star.

Chorus

 

Now, we've sung of how we've laughed at life;

     we've sung of how we've fought,

And we've told a tale of love or two, and drank an awful lot.

But when the tourneys are all over, now the story travels far

As we sing of times remembered by the rising of the star.

Chorus

 

Oh, the Ansteorran winter is windy and it's cold,

But it brings to us the spirit of the Yuletide days of Old.

All ye royalty, nobility and gentry, near and far,

Drink a toast unto the season  And the rising of the Star!

Chorus

 

 

Credits (alphabetical):

     Alden Pharamond          v 8 & 16

     Balthazar of Endor       v 1, 2 & 17    

     Tivar Moondragon         v 14 & 15

     Vlad Ravna               v. 10

     William Blackfox         v. 18

 

 

Subject: BG - re: Tomorrow, the origional

Date: Wed, 30 Sep 98 09:08:23 MST

From: "j'lynn yeates" <jyeates at bga.com>

To: bryn-gwlad at Ansteorra.ORG, ansteorra at Ansteorra.ORG

 

On 30 Sep 98, at 7:37, Elisabeth Zakes wrote:

> > Vargskal Halfblood, Baron Bryn Gwlad, is Steve Jackson (or was, does he

> > still play?).  The melody is from the movie "The Producers" with Gene

> > Wilder and Zero Mostel.  And I would be interested in the words to this

> > song also.  Edwina

>

>  Varg, mka SJ, does not play any more and, according to my

> sources, is still very sour on the whole thing. I'm hunting up lyrics, but

> don't know if I will have any success.

 

i don't have the Ansteorran version close to hand (sure it's in a box

somewhere though ...) but here's the *origional* that gave it genesis ...

published in the the Dark Horde "Khanate Kit"

 

Tomorrow

 

tune: Tomorrow (Caberet)

... by Yang the Nauseating, et al

 

The sands of the Gobi lie gold in the sun

The warriors and herdsmen ride free

But somewhere a voice calls "Move On! Move On!"

Tomorrow belongs to me

 

Ride westward my children, new pastures are green

Rich cities encircle the sea

Tis time for your glory so rise and sing

Tomorrow belongs to me

 

O Atenveldt's grown much too large to defend

The Mist has her back to the sea

The East and the Middle are still at war

Tomorrow belongs to me

 

Merides weakens from internal strife

Caid id her own enemy

And young Ansteorra's a babe in arms

Tomorrow belongs to me

 

Ride westward my brothers

We'll show them a sign

United, we'll always be free

The morning will come when the world is mine

Tomorrow belongs to me

 

The stars are there waiting

They won't come to us

We must make our own destiny

We'll gather the stars in our hands like dust

Tomorrow belongs to me

 

Tomorrow belongs to me

 

Tomorrow belongs to me

 

'wolf

 

 

Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 00:45:32 -0400

From: "Monica Schoenthaler" <schoenthalerm at wlu.edu>

To: <keep at windmastershill.org>

Subject: *WH* Re: A Request(Song of Roland lyrics)

 

Poster: "Monica Schoenthaler" <schoenthalerm at wlu.edu>

Lyrics to Song of Roland:

by Somebody Who is Not Me. (I forget who, sorry)

 

(this might be slightly off, as I'm recalling it from memory, but I have

a really good memory =)

 

The fairest flower of chivalry to bloom in all the land,

And the noblest of all the knights of Charlemagne

 

Was Roland, Roland, King Charles sister's son

Renowned through all the Frankish lands for battles you have won.

In council hear ye, Ganelon, make plea to go to war-

To aid the rebel Saracens against their rightful Lord.

 

Roland, Roland, you call this plan ill made,

But nonetheless does Charlemagne agree to send them aid.

Then Ganelon requests you for the post most perilous;

And willing do you accept as honor deems you must.

 

Roland, Roland, the rear guard you command,

with Oliver, your loyal friend, to ride at your right hand.

And at the vale of Rencelaus* your doom is now anigh;

The Saracens, they hold the pass, and will not let you by.

 

 

Roland, Roland, you know now you're betrayed,

But in your heart is courage, and your voice is not dismayed:

"Face we now grim battle, take your shields and raise them high,

With honour we have lived our lives, with honour we shall die"

 

Roland, Roland, sound your mighty horn,

And try to call the men back who rode out just yestermorn.

The King has heard your call afar, but Ganelon says, "Nay,

Tis only our young Roland out hunting on this day."

 

Roland, Roland, sound your horn again,

As fierce the battle rages through the valley and the glen.

Again the King has heard your call, again the traitor lies,

And none shall come to aid you as your peril he denies.

 

Roland, Roland, sound your final blast,

As one by one your men-at-arms die fighting at the pass.

And at the last is Oliver, by swordsman overthrown,

And ye of all the Frankish host now stands alone.

 

 

Roland, Roland, O black the day you died,

Your comrades slain around you and your sword at your side,

They found you on a hilltop with your face turned t'wards the foe,

And never has their been a day of such great woe.

 

Roland, Roland, your name will live in song,

Wherever brave men take up arms to right a mighty wrong.

The fairest flower of chivalry to bloom in all the land,

And the noblest of all the nights of Charlemagne.

 

* - I'm not sure how that's spelled, sorry =(

 

In service,

Chantal de Bellevallee

 

 

From: Lordgaelan at aol.com

Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 08:48:49 EDT

Subject: Re: *WH* Re: A Request(Song of Roland lyrics)

To: keep at windmastershill.org

 

The lyrics are by Lady Rosalinde Jehanne of Paradox Keep.

 

 

Date: Thu, 09 Dec 1999 07:03:00 MST

From: "Caley Woulfe" <cwoulfe at life.edu>

Subject: ANST - Fw: [TY] Drive the Cold Winter Away

To: "Ansteorran List" <ansteorra at Ansteorra.ORG>

 

A holiday(?) song from the Tavern Yard....

 

Caoillainn De Bhulbh,  She-Wolf of Limerick

 

-----Original Message-----

From: Lumpkin <lumpkin at telepak.net>

To: TY at reashelm.ce.utk.edu <TY at reashelm.ce.utk.edu>

Date: Wednesday, December 08, 1999 10:11 PM

Subject: [TY] Drive the Cold Winter Away

 

To share with my friends on the yard...

Merry Christmas

Engelise

Drive the Cold Winter Away

Traditional (early 17th century)

only slightly out of period

All hail to the days that merit more praise

    than all the rest of the year,

And welcome the nights that double delights

    as well as for the poor as the peer!

Sweet blessings attend each merry man's friend

    that doth but the best that he may,

Forgetting old wrongs, with poems and songs,

    to drive the cold winter away.

'Tis ill for the mind to anger inclined

    to think of small injuries now;

If wrath be to seek, don't lend her thy cheek,

    don't let her inhabit they brow.

Cross out of thy books malevolent looks,

    both beauty and youth's decay,

And spend the long nights in honest delights

    to drive the cold winter away.

This time of the year is spent in good cheer

    with neighbors together to meet,

To sit by the fire, with friendly desire,

    with others in love to greet;

Old grudges forgot, are put in the pot,

    all sorrows aside they lay,

The old and the young doth carol this song,

    to drive the cold winter away.

 

Date: Thu, 09 Dec 1999 17:18:40 MST

From: Baronman at aol.com

Subject: Re: ANST - Fw: [TY] Drive the Cold Winter Away

To: ansteorra at Ansteorra.ORG

 

In a message dated 12/9/99 7:22:10 AM Central Standard Time, cwoulfe at life.edu

writes:

 

<< Drive the Cold Winter Away

Traditional (early 17th century)

only slightly out of period

  

  

All hail to the days that merit more praise

     than all the rest of the year,

And welcome the nights that double delights

     as well as for the poor as the peer! >>

 

STRANGE-  on Loreena McKennitt's CD this is listed as " In Praise Of

Christmas " and it is said to be a traditional 18th century English song.

This makes it way out of period.

    Loreena McKennitt- To Drive the Cold Winter Away QRCD102 copywrite 1987

 

Baron Bors

 

 

Date: Fri, 10 Dec 1999 10:45:16 MST

From: Charlene Charette <charlene at flash.net>

Subject: Re: ANST - Fw: [TY] Drive the Cold Winter Away

To: ansteorra at Ansteorra.ORG

 

I don't know anything about the age of the lyrics, but the tune is used for a

dance with the same title from 1st edition Playford (1651).

 

--Perronnelle

 

Baronman at aol.com wrote:

> In a message dated 12/9/99 7:22:10 AM Central Standard Time, cwoulfe at life.edu

> writes:

>

> << Drive the Cold Winter Away

>  Traditional (early 17th century)

>  only slightly out of period  >>

>

> STRANGE-  on Loreena McKennitt's CD this is listed as " In Praise Of

> Christmas " and it is said to be a traditional 18th century English song.

>  This makes it way out of period.

>     Loreena McKennitt- To Drive the Cold Winter Away QRCD102 copywrite 1987

>

> Baron Bors

 

<the end>



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