Title: songs2-msg
Subject: SCA and medieval songs.
Author: Edited by Mark S. Harris
Last saved by: Mark S. Harris
Keywords: songs, verses, lyrics, medieval, SCA, sources

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 -

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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.

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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>

Edited by Mark S. Harris	songs2-msg	Page  of