Saturday, April 6, 2013

The Music of Early America Part 10 (Popular Music A-K)


The Music of Early America Part 10

(Popular Music A-K)



Popular Music During The 18th Century


ALLOA HOUSE 
 The spring-time returns and clothes the green plains, 
 And Alloa shines more cheerful and gay; 
 The lark tunes his throat, and the neighboring swains 
 Sing merrily round me where-ever I stray: 
 But Sandy no more returns to my view; 
 No spring-time me cheers, no music can charm; 
 He's gone! and, I fear me, for ever: adieu! 
 Adieu ev'ry pleasure this bosom can warm! 
O Alloa-house! how much art thou chang'd!

How silent, how dull to me is each grove! 
Alone I here wander where once we both rang'd, 
Alas! where to please me my Sandy once strove! 
Here, Sandy, I heard the tales that you told, 
Here listened too fond whenever you sung; 
Am I grown less fair then, that you are turn'd cold? 
Or foolish, believ'd a false, flattering tongue? 
So spoke the fair maid, when Sorrow's keen pain, 
And Shame, her last fault'ring accents suppress; 
For Fate, at that moment, brought back her dear swain, 
Who beard, and, with rapture, his Nelly addrest:
My Nelly! my fair, I come; O my love! 
No pow'r shall thee tear again from my arms, 
And, Nelly ! no more thy fond shepherd reprove, 
Who knows thy fair worth, and adores all thy charms.

She heard; and new joy shot' thro' her soft frame, 
And will you, my Love! be true? She replied; 
And live I to meet my fond shepherd the same? 
Or dream I that Sandy will make me his bride? 

O Nelly! I live to find thee still kind;

Still true to thy swain, and lovely as true;

Then, adieu to all sorrow; what foul is so blind,

As not to live happy for ever with you?



"The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington"
staff with melody
http://folksongcollector.com/bailiffs.html
The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington
Illustration:'The Book of Old English Songs and Ballads'
Published by Stodder and Houghton, c. 1910
THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON
THERE was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, And he was a squire's son;
He loved the bayliffe's daughter deare, That lived in Islington.

Yet she was coye, and would not believe That he did love her soe,
Noe nor at any time would she Any countenance to him showe.

But when his friendes did understand His fond and foolish minde,
They sent him up to faire London, An apprentice for to binde.

And when he had been seven long yeares, And never his love could see,--
"Many a teare have I shed for her sake, When she little thought of mee."

Then all the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and playe,
All but the bayliffe's daughter deare; She secretly stole awaye.

She pulled off her gowne of greene, And put on ragged attire,
And to faire London she would go Her true love to enquire.

And as she went along the high road, The weather being hot and drye,
She sat her downe upon a green bank, And her true love came riding bye.

She started up, with a colour soe redd, Catching hold of his bridle-reine;
"One penny, one penny, kind sir," she sayd, "Will ease me of much paine."

"Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, Praye tell me where you were borne."
"At Islington, kind sir," sayd shee, "Where I have had many a scorne."

"I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee, O tell me, whether you knowe
The bayliffes daughter of Islington." "She is dead, sir, long agoe."

"If she be dead, then take my horse, My saddle and bridle also;
For I will into some farr countrye, Where noe man shall me knowe."

"O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe, She standeth by thy side;
She is here alive, she is not dead, And readye to be thy bride."

"O farewell griefe, and welcome joye, Ten thousand times therefore;
For nowe I have founde mine owne true love, Whom I thought I should never see more."


 "Barbara Allen"
("Barbara Allen's Cruelty")
(music to go here)
http://folksongcollector.com/barbara.html
Barbara Allen illustration by Henry Brock, 1934
ALL in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swelling,
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay
For love o' Barbara Allen.

He sent his man unto her then,
To the town where she was dwelling:
"O haste and come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen."

Slowly, slowly rase she up,
And she cam' where he was lying;
And when she drew the curtain by,
Says, "Young man, I think you're dying."

"O it's I am sick, and very, very sick,
And it's a' for Barbara Allen."
"O the better for me ye'se never be,
Tho' your heart's blude were a-spilling!

"O dinna ye min', young man," she says,
"When the red wine ye were filling,
That ye made the healths gae round and round
And ye slighted Barbara Allen?"

He turn'd his face unto the wa',
And death was wi' him dealing:
"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a';
Be kind to Barbara Allen."

As she was walking o'er the fields,
She heard the dead-bell knelling;
And every jow the dead-bell gave,
It cried, "Woe to Barbara Allen!"

"O mother, mother, mak' my bed,
To lay me down in sorrow.
My love has died for me to-day,
I'll die for him to-morrow."

 "Beneath a Weeping Willow's Shade"
by Francis Hopkinson


BENEATH A WEEPING WILLOW'S SHADE
Beneath a weeping willow's shade
She sat and sang alone;
Her hand upon her heart she load
And plaintive was her moan.
The mock bird sat upon a bough
And list'ned to her lay,
Then to the distant hills he bore
The dulcet notes away.

Fond echo to her stra[illeg.] reply'd,
The winds her sorrows bore;
Adieu! dear youth---adieu! she cry'd,
I ne'er shall see thee more.
The mock-bird sat upon a bough
And list'ned to her lay,
Then to the distant hills he bore
The dulcet notes away.

"Bellisle March"
"Billy Boy"

"Black Is The Color of My True Love’s Hair"
BLACK IS THE COLOR OF MY TRUE LOVE'S HAIR

Black is the color of my true love's hair.

Her lips are like some roses fair.

She''s the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands.

I love the ground where on she stands.



I love my love - well she knows.

I love the ground where on she goes.

I wish the day it soon would come

when she and I could be as one.



I go to the Clyde and mourn and weep

Satisfied I never can be.

I write her a letter, just a few short lines

And suffer death a thousand times.



For black is the color of my true love's hair.

Her lips are like a rose so fair.

She hast the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands.

I love the ground where on she stands.
"Black Joak"
"Brighton Camp"
"Come, Fair Rosina"
by Francis Hopkinson

COME FAIR ROSINA
Come, fair Rosina, come away,
Long since stern Winter's storms have ceas'd;
See! Nature, in her best array,
Invites us to her rural feast:
The season shall her treasure spread,
Her mellow fruits and harvests brown,
Her flowers their richest odours shed,
And ev'ry breeze pour fragrance down.

At noon we'll seek the wild wood's shade,
And o'er the pathless verdure rove;
Or, near a mossy fountain laid,
Attend the music of the grove;
At eve, the sloping mead invites
'Midst lowing herds and flocks to stray;
Each hour shall furnish new delights,
And love and joy shall crown the day.
"Come Let Us Drink About"
("Sedany")
St. Paul's Suite IV. (The Dargason Allegro) by Gustav Holst

"Enraptured I Gaze"
by Francis Hopkinson

ENRAPTUR'D I GAZE 
Enraptur'd I gaze when my Delia is by,
And drink the sweet poison of love from her eye;

I feel the soft passion pervade ev'ry part

And pleasure unusual plays round my fond heart.



I hear her sweet voice, and am charm'd with her song---

I think I could hear her sweet voice all day long;

My senses enchanted, are lost in delight

When love and soft music their raptures unite.



Beyond all expression my Delia I love,

My heart is so fix'd that it never can rove;

When I see her I think tis an angel I see,

And the charms of her mind are a heaven to me.


"Fair Rosamond"





FAIR ROSAMOND

When as King Henry rulde this land, The second of that name,

Besides the queene, he dearly lovde A faire and comely dame.

Most peerlesse was her beautye founde, Her favour, and her face;

A sweeter creature in this worlde Could never prince embrace.



Her crisped lockes like threads of golde, Appeard to each man's sight;

Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles, Did cast a heavenlye light.

The blood within her crystal cheekes Did such a colour drive,

As though the lillye and the rose For mastership did strive. 



Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde, Her name was called so, 

To whom our queene, Dame Ellinor, Was known a deadlye foe.

The king therefore, for her defence Against the furious queene, 

At Woodstocke builded such a bower, The like was never seene. 



Most curiously that bower was built, Of stone and timber strong; 

An hundered and fifty doors Did to this bower belong:

And they so cunninglye contriv'd, With turnings round about, 

That none but with a clue of thread Could enter in or out. 

And for his love and ladyes sake, That was so faire and brighte, 
The keeping of this bower he gave Unto a valiant knighte.
But fortune, that doth often frowne Where she before did smile, 
The kinges delighte and ladyes joy Full soon shee did beguile: 

For why, the kinges ungracious sonne, Whom he did high advance, 
Against his father raised warres Within the realme of France.
But yet before our comelye king The English land forsooke, 
Of Rosamond, his lady faire, His farewelle thus he tooke: 

My Rosamonde, my only Rose, That pleasest best mine eye, 
The fairest flower in all the worlde To feed my fantasye,--
"The flower of mine affected heart, Whose sweetness doth excelle, 
My royal Rose, a thousand times I bid thee nowe farwelle! 

For I must leave my fairest flower, My sweetest Rose, a space, 
And cross the seas to famous France., Proud rebelles to abase.
But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt My coming shortlye see, 
And in my heart, when hence I am, Ile beare my Rose with mee." 

When Rosamond, that ladye brighte, Did heare the king saye soe, 
The sorrowe of her grieved heart Her outward lookes did showe.
And from her cleare and crystall eyes The teares gusht out apace, 
Which, like the silver-pearled dewe, Ranne downe her comely face. 

Her lippes, erst like the corall redde, Did waxe both wan and pale, 
And for the sorrow she conceivde Her vitall spirits faile.
And falling downe all in a swoone Before King Henryes face, 
Full oft he in his princelye armes Her bodye did embrace. 

And twentye times, with watery eyes, He kist her tender cheeke, 
Untill he had revivde againe Her senses milde and meeke.
"Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?" The king did often say: 
"Because," quoth shee, "to bloodye warres My lord must part awaye. 

"But since your Grace on forrayne coastes, Amonge your foes unkinde, 
Must goe to hazard life and limbe, Why should I staye behinde?
"Nay, rather let me, like a page, Your sworde and target beare; 
That on my breast the blowes may lighte, Which would offend you there. 

"Or lett mee, in your royal tent, Prepare your bed at nighte, 
And with sweete baths refresh your grace, At your returne from fighte.
"So I your presence may enjoye No toil I will refuse; 
But wanting you, my life is death: Nay, death Ild rather chuse." 

"Content thy self, my dearest love, Thy rest at home shall bee, 
In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle; For travell fits not thee.
"Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres; Soft peace their sexe delightes; 
Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers; Gay feastes, not cruell fightes. 

"My Rose shall safely here abide, With musicke passe the daye, 
Whilst I amonge the piercing pikes My foes seeke far awaye.
"My Rose shall shine in pearle and golde, Whilst Ime in armour dighte; 
Gay galliards here my love shall dance, Whilst I my foes goe fighte. 

"And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste To bee my loves defence, 
Be carefull of my gallant Rose When I am parted hence."
And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, As though his heart would breake; 
And Rosamonde, for very griefe, Not one plaine word could speake. 

And at their parting well they mighte In heart be grieved sore: 
After that daye, faire Rosamonde The king did see no more.
For when his Grace had past the seas, And into France was gone, 
With envious heart, Queene Ellinor To Woodstocke came anone. 

And forth she calls this trustye knighte In an unhappy houre, 
Who, with his clue of twined-thread, Came from this famous bower.
And when that they had wounded him, The queene this thread did gette, 
And wente where Ladye Rosamonde Was like an angell sette. 

But when the queene with stedfast eye Beheld her beauteous face, 
She was amazed in her minde At her exceeding grace.
Cast off from thee those robes," she said, "That riche and costlye bee; 
And drinke thou up this deadlye draught Which I have brought to thee."


"The Farmer's Curst Wife"
("The Devil and the Farmer")
Sung by Pete Seeger
THE FARMER'S CURST WIFE
A farmer was ploughing his field one day,

Riteful, riteful, titty fie day,

A farmer was ploughing his field one day

When the devil came up, and to him did say,

With a riteful la, titty fie day,

Riteful, riteful, titty fie day.



See here, my good man, I have come for your wife,

Riteful, riteful, titty fie day,

See here, my good man I have come for your wife,

For she's the bane and torment of your life,

With a riteful la, titty fie day,

Riteful, riteful, titty fie day.



So the Devil he hoisted her up on his hump,

Riteful, riteful, titty fie day,

So the Devil he hoisted her up on his hump,

And down to Hell with her he did jump,

With a riteful la, titty fie day,

Riteful, riteful, titty fie day.



When they got there the gates they were shut,
Riteful, riteful, titty fie day,
When they got there the gates they were shut,
With a blow of her hand she laid open his nut,
With a riteful la, titty fie day,
Riteful, riteful, titty fie day.

Two little devils were playing handball,
Riteful, riteful, titty fie day,
Two little devils were playing handball,
Take her back Daddy, she'll be the death of us all!
With a riteful la, titty fie day,
Riteful, riteful, titty fie day.

So the Devil he hoisted her up on his hump,
Riteful, riteful, titty fie day,
So the Devil he hoisted her up on his hump,
And back to earth with her he did jump,
With a riteful la, titty fie day,
Riteful, riteful, titty fie day.

See here, my good man, I have come with your wife,
Riteful, riteful, titty fie day,
See here, my good man, I have come with your wife,
For she's the bane and torment of my life.
With a riteful la, titty fie day,
Riteful, riteful, titty fie day.

Now they say that the women are worse than the men,
Riteful, riteful, titty fie day,
They say that the women are worse than the men,
They went down to Hell and got kicked out again.
With a riteful la, titty fie day,
Riteful, riteful, titty fie day.
"Flowers of Edinburgh"
Edinburgh Castle, Edinburgh, Scotland.jpg
Edinburgh Castle, Edinburgh, Scotland

http://round.soc.srcf.net/system/files/peascods.pdf
http://www.joe-offer.com/folkinfo/songs/pdf/341.pdf
http://www.joe-offer.com/folkinfo/songs/pdf/341.pdf
http://www.thedansemacabre.org/Songbook/morguesongs/gathering_peascods.jpg
https://ealingsessions.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/gathering-peascods.jpg
http://abcnotation.com/tunePage?a=trillian.mit.edu/~jc/music/abc/mirror/home.quicknet.nl/ireland/0443
http://abcnotation.com/getResource/downloads/media/gathering-peascods.mid?a=
trillian.mit.edu/~jc/music/abc/mirror/home.quicknet.nl/ireland/0443
http://abcnotation.com/tunePage?a=www.stephenmerrony.co.uk/ABC/Carols/G/Gathering_Peascods_82/0000
http://abcnotation.com/getResource/downloads/media/gatherine-peascods.mid?a=www.stephenmerrony.co.uk/ABC/Carols/G/Gathering_Peascods_82/0000
http://www.freesheetmusic.net/worldfolk/irishdh/gathering%20peascods.pdf
http://www.freesheetmusic.net/worldfolk/irishdh/gathering%20peascods.mid

 "Girls And Boys Come Out To Play"

GIRLS AND BOYS COME OUT TO PLAY

Girls and boys come out to play, The moon doth shine as bright as day; 

Leave your supper and leave your sleep, And come to your playfellows down the street. 

Come with a whoop, come with a call, Come with goodwill or not at all. 

Up the ladder and down the wall, A half-penny roll will serve us all.


"The Golden Vanity"
("The Lowlands Low")
Golden Vanity sung by Burl Ives

Golden Vanity arranged by Vaughan-Williams

Golden Vanity arranged by Benjamin Britten

http://www.joe-offer.com/folkinfo/songs/pdf/254.pdf
http://www.joe-offer.com/folkinfo/songs/midi/254.midi
 http://sausage.whatbox.ca:15263/imglnks/usimg/3/3e/IMSLP248925-PMLP283881-englishfolk00camp.pdf
http://folksongcollector.com/goldenvanity.html
The Golden Vanity
http://mnheritagesongbook.net/the-songs/addition-song-with-recordings/the-merry-golden-tree/

 THE GOLDEN VANITEE
There was a ship came from the north countree,

And the name of the ship was the Golden Vanitee,

And they feared that she might be taken by the Turkish enemy,

That sails on the Lowland, Lowland,

That sails upon the Lowland sea.



Then up there came a little cabin boy,

And he said to the skipper, 'What will you give me,

If I swim alongside of the Turkish enemy,

And sink her in the Lowland, Lowland,

And sink her in the Lowland sea?



'Oh I will give you silver, O I will give you gold,

And my only daughter your bride to be,

If you'll swim alongside of the Turkish enemy,

And sink her in the Lowland, Lowland,

And sink her in the Lowland sea.'



Then the boy made him ready and overboard sprang he,

And he swam alongside of the Turkish enemy,

And with his auger sharp in her side he bored holes three,

And he sank her in the Lowland, Lowlands,
And he sank her in the Lowland, sea.

Then the boy turned round and back again swam he,
And he cried to the skipper of the Golden Vanitee,
But the skipper did not heed, for his promise he would need,
And he left him in the Lowland, Lowlands,
And he left him in the Lowlands sea.

Then the boy swam around and came to the port side,
And he looked up at his messmates and bitterly he cried,
'O messmates, take me up, for I'm drifting with the tide,
And I'm sinking in the Lowland, Lowlands,
And I'm sinking in the Lowlands sea.'

Then his messmates took him up, but on the deck he died,
And they sewed him in his hammock that was so large and wide,
And they lowered him overboard, but he drifted with the tide,
And he sank beneath the Lowlands, Lowlands,
And he sank beneath the Lowlands sea.

"Greensleeves"
Greensleeves sung by Celtic Ladies

http://hauleymusic.com/monthly.php?year=2012&month=01
http://fifeanddrum.biz/mus/sng/pdf/haste2wedC1.pdf
http://fifeanddrum.biz/mus/sng/pdf/haste2wedC0.pdf
http://fifeanddrum.biz/mus/sng/mid/haste2wedC.mid
http://www.iment.com/maida/familytree/henry/music/p66.htm
http://ibiblio.org/jimmy/folkden/php/music/Greensleeves.mp3
http://www.vitrifolk.be/partitions/partitions-irlande-Haste_to_the_wedding_2.png
http://vvfdc.org/Sheet%20Music/Fife/Haste%20To%20The%20Wedding.pdf
http://www.slowplayers.org/Music/midi/haste_to_the_wedding.mid
http://www.slowplayers.org/pda/images/Music/Haste_to_the_wedding_PDA.gif

"Hearts of Oak" 1759 
by David Garrick
http://www.loyalamericanregiment.org/LAR%20Songsbook.pdf
http://www.motherbedford.com/Music23.htm
http://www.motherbedford.com/heartofoak.mid
http://www.kitchenmusician.net/giftunes/oakheart.gif
http://www.kitchenmusician.net/miditunes/oakheart.mid
http://abcnotation.com/tunePage?a=www.fresnostate.edu/folklore/Olson/BM1.ABC/0086
http://abcnotation.com/getResource/downloads/media/b186-heart-of-oak.mi
a=www.fresnostate.edu/folklore/Olson/BM1.ABC/0086
http://hauleymusic.com/monthly.php?year=2012&month=02
http://archive.org/stream/musicofgeorgewas00geor/musicofgeorgewas00geor_djvu.txt
"Hearts Ease"

"Hunt the Squirrel"
18th Century Portrait of a Woman with a Squirrel by Joseph Badger, 1757

"Indian Queen"

 "I'm Seventeen Come Sunday"
"I'm Seventeen Come Sunday" arranged by Percy Grainger

"I'm Seventeen Come Sunday" arranged by Ralph Vaughan-Williams


"Jenny Pluck Pears"
"Jolly Miller"
http://www.mamalisa.com/images/scores/jollymiller_score.gif

JOLLY MILLER
I live at the mill, at the foot of the hill,
Where the stream runs rippling by,

And for ten miles around, there cannot be found,

A merrier fellow than I.

For I laugh and I sing, and drive away care,

I've enough for my wants and a little spare,

And if any old friend should pass my way,

I'll make him as welcome as the flowers in May.



The jolly old mill, it stands there still,

As it did in my father's time,

Who often used to sing to me,

This little bit of rhyme.

"Remember my boy, don't turn up your nose,

At poorer people in plainer clothes,

But think, for the sake of your mind's repose,

That life's but a bubble that comes and goes."



I have never seen the pleasure yet,

Of dressing very loud,

I think there's little good to be got,

In looking very proud,

Or passing over when you meet,

Some old acquaintance in the street,

I may be wrong, but then, you know,

It is always the style of the miller, just so.


You know I always think it best,
To pay your tailor's bill,
And pay your wrong and injury
With good instead of ill;
In fact, I think it best to do,
As you'd have other do to you,
I may be wrong, but then you know,
It is always the style of the miller, just so.


"Juice of Barley"

KATY CRUEL

When I first came to town,

They called me the roving jewel;

Now they've changed their tune,

They call me Katy Cruel,

Oh, diddle, lully day,

Oh, de little lioday.



Chorus: Oh that I was where I would be,

Then I would be where I am not,

Here I am where I must be,

Go where I would, I can not,

Oh, diddle, lully day,

Oh, de little lioday.



When I first came to town,

They brought me the bottles plenty;

Now they've changed their tune,

They bring me the bottles empty,

Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Chorus:

I know who I love,
And I know who does love me;
I know where I'm going,
And I know whose going with me,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Chorus:

Through the woods I go,
And through the bogs and mire,
Straightway down the road,
And to my heart's desire,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Chorus:

Eyes as bright as coal,
Lips as bright as cherry,
And 'tis her delight
To make the young girls merry,
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Chorus:

When I first came to town
They called me the roving jewel
Now they've changed their tune
They call me Katy Cruel
Oh, diddle, lully day,
Oh, de little lioday.

Chorus:

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