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Geordie

(Child 209)

This is one of the most popular of our folk songs; it appears in many variations both in Appalachia and the British Isles.  It's interesting to note there are two separate "Geordies;" the one bearing no resemblance to the other.

As I walked out in Edinburgh town
One misty morning early,
I overheard a fair pretty maid
Lamenting for her Geordie.

Ah my Geordie never stole nor cow nor calf
He's never hurt'ed any
He's ta'en sixteen of the King's royal deer
And fed them to his family.

Ah my Geordie will be hanged with a golden chain
'Tis not the chain of many,
He was born of the king's royal breed,
But he'll hang as high as any.

Go bridle me my milk white steed
Go bridle me my pony
For I will ride to the King's high court
To plead for the life of Geordie.

And when she's entered the King's high hall
There were lords and ladies plenty
There she stood, the flower among them all
To plead for the life of her Geordie.

Ah my Geordie never stole nor cow nor calf
He's never hurt'ed any
He's ta'en sixteen of the King's royal deer
And fed them to his family.

Two pretty babies have I born
The third lies in my body.
I'd gladly bear them o'er again
All for the love of Geordie

Then the King's looked over his left shoulder,
He said, "Fair maid, I'm sorry."
He said, "Fair maid, you must be gone,
For I canna pardon Geordie.

"Ah my Geordie will be hanged with a golden chain
'Tis not the chain of many,
He was born of the king's royal breed,
But he'll hang as high as any.

Then up and spoke our noble Queen,
And, aye, but she spoke bonny.
Saying, "Five hundred pounds you give to me,
And you shall have your Geordie."

She's taken the kerchief from her head
And she's spread it out so bonnie
And she's taken the hat from her true love's head
And she's begged for the life of her Geordie.

Some gave her ducats; some gave her crowns
And some gave pearls a'plenty
Till five hundred pounds has she laid down
To pay for the life of her Geordie.

He's mounted her on the milk-white steed
And himself upon the pony
And she's taken him back to Glasgow Town
All for the love of her Geordie.


 
 
 
 

Gil Morice (Child Maurice)

This one seems like a topsy-turvy version of Mattie Groves; only in this case the lover is ... well, you'll see.

Gil Morice was an earl's son,
His fame, it waxed wide,
It wasna for his great riches,
Nor for his muckle pride.

His face was fair, lang was his hair,
In the wild wood whaur he stayed
But his fame was by a lady fair,
That lived on Carron-side.

"Whaur will I get a bonny boy
That will win hose and shoon,
That will gang ta Lord Bernard's ha'
And bid his lady come?

"Oh ye maun rin for me, Willie,
And ye maun rin wi' pride,
When ither boys rin on their feet,
On horseback ye shall ride."

"Oh no, oh no, my maister dear,
I daurna for my life;
I'll no gang ta the bauld baron's,
For to tryst forth his wife."

"My bird Willie and my boy Willie,
And my dear Willie," he said,
"How can ye strive against the stream,
For I shall be obeyed."

"But o, my maister dear," he cried,
"In greenwood ye're your lane.
Gie o'er sic thoughts, I would ye pray
For fear ye should be tane."

"Oh haste, I say, gang tae the ha'
An' bid her come, wi' speed.
If ye refuse my high command
I'll gar your body bleed.

"Ye'll bid her tak' this gay manteel,
It's a' gowd but the hem,
An' bid her tae the greenwood here,
An' bring nane but her lane.

"An' there it is, a silken sark,
Her ain hand sewed the sleeve,
Bid her come speak tae Morice,
Spier nae bauld baron's leave."

"Noo since I maun yer errand rin,
Sair, sair against my will,
I'll mak a vow an' keep it true,
It shall be done for ill."

An' when he cam tae the broken brig,
He bent his breist and swam,
An' when he cam' tae grass growin',
Set doon his foot an' ran
.
An' when he cam' tae Bernard's ha',
Would neither chap nor ca',
But set his bend-bow tae his breist,
An' lightly leapt the wa'.

He would tell no man his errand
Tho' twa stood at the gate,
But straicht into the ha' he cam',
Whar great folk sat at meat.

"Hail, hail, my gentle sire an' dame,
Ma message winna wait,
Dame, ye maun tae the greenwood gang,
Before that it be late.

"Ye're bidden tak' this gay manteel,
It's a' gowd but the hem,
An' ye maun tae the greenwood there,
E'en by yersel, alane.

"There it is, a silken sark,
Yer ain han' sewed the sleeve;
Ye maun come speak tae Morice,
Spier nae bauld barron's leave."

The lady stampit wi' her foot,
An' winkit wi' her ee;
But a' that she could say or do,
Forbidden he wouldna be.

For a' that she could say or do,
Forbidden he wouldna be;
"It's surely tae my bower, woman,
It ne'er could be tae me."

Then up an' spak the wiley nurse,
(The bairn upon her knee,)
"If it be come frae Gil Morice,
Oh dearly it's welcome tae me."

"Ye lee, ye lee, ye filthy nurse,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee;
I've brocht it tae Lord Bernard's lady,
I trow ye be not she."

Then up an' spak the bauld baron,
An' an angry man was he;
He's ta'en the table wi' his fit,
In flinders gart it flee.

"Gae bring a robe o' yon clothing
That hangs upon the pin,
An' I will tae the greenwood gae,
An' speak wi' your leman."

"Oh bide at hame noo, my good lord,
I warn you, bide at hame;
Nae wyte a man wi' violence,
That ne're wyte you wi' nane."

Gil Morice sat in yon green wood,
He whistled and he sang;
"Oh what mean a' these folk coming?
My mither tarries lang."

When Bernard tae the greenwood cam',
"Wi' muckle dool an' care,
It's there he saw brave Gil Morice
A-kaimin' his yellow hair.

"No wonder noo, Gil Morice, brave,
My lady loos ye weel;
The fairest part o' my body,
Is blacker than yer heel.

"Yet ne'ertheless noo, Gil Morice,
For a' thy great beauty,
Ye'll rue the day that ye were born,
Thy heid shall gang wi' me."

Noo he has drawn his trusty brand,
An' slait it on a strae,
An' through Gil Morice' fair body,
He's gart cauld iron gae.

An' he has taen Gil Morice' heid,
An set it on a spear;
The meanest man in a' his train,
He got the heid tae bear.

An' he has taen Gil Morice up,
Laid him across his steed;
An' brocht him tae his painted bower,
An' laid him on a bed.

The lady sat on castle wa',
Beheld baith dale an' down,
An' there she saw Gil Morice' heid
Come trailin' to the toon.

"Far mair I loo that bloody heid,
But an' that bloody hair,
Than Lord Bernard an' a' his lands
As they lie here an' there."

An' she has taen Gil Morice up,
An' kissed baith mouth an' chin;
"I aince was fu' o' Gil Morice
As hip is o' the stane.

"I got thee in my faither's ha,
Wi' muckle grief an' shame,
An' brought thee up in the greenwood
Under the heavy rain.

"Oft have I by thy cradle sat,
An' seen thee soundly sleep,
An' noo I'll gang aboot thy grave,
The saut tears for tae weep."

An' she has kissed his bloody cheek,
An' syne his bloody chin;
"Better I loo my Gil Morice
Than a' my kith an kin."

"Awa', awa', ye ill woman,
An' an ill death may ye dee;
Gin I had kent he was your son
He'd ne'er been slain by me."

"Upbraid me not, Lord Bernard,
Upbraid me not for shame,
Wi' that same sword, noo pierce my hairt,
An' put me oot o' pain.

Since naething but Gil Morice' heid
Thy jelous rage could quell,
Let that same hand noo take her life
That ne'er tae you did ill.

"Tae me nae after days or nights
Will e'er be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air wi' heavy sighs
An grief till I am blind."

"Enough o' blood by me's been spilt;
Seek not your death frae me.
I'd rather it had been mysel'
Than either him or thee.

"Wi' wae sae sair, I hear yer plaint,
Sair, sair I rue the deed,
That e'er this curs_ d hand o' mine
Did gar his body bleed.

Dry up your tears my winsome dame,
Ye ne'er can heal the wound;
Ye saw his heid upon my spear,
His hairt's blood on the ground.

"I curse the hand that did the deed,
The hairt that thought the ill,
The feet that bore me wi' sic speed
The comely youth tae kill.

"I'll aye lament for Gil Morice
As gin he were my own
I'll ne'er forget the dreary day
On which the youth was slain."


 
 

Gilda and the Dragon

© Cynthia McQuillin

I first heard this at a Westercon in 1983 or so.  Cindy said the song was inspired by a National Lampoon cover.

Sir Loren undertook a quest, the maiden Gilda seeking
He found her in a dragon's bed from 'neath the covers peeking.
"What seek you here, Sir Loren, dear?" the dragon asked with guile.
The noble knight could not but note the dragon's sated smile.

"Why smilest thou, Lord Dragon, sir?" asked our hero in armor laden.
"Why you'd smile too," the wyrm replied, "if you'd just eaten a maiden."

"Such candor," this young lordling cried, "must touch upon dishonor!"
The dragon grinned his lecherous grin, and once more was upon her.
"Cease and desist!" Sir Loren cried, his fine steel blade a'flashin'.
"O, slay him not!"  Young Gilda cried, her voice a play of passion.

"Was ever a maid so tried as I betwixt desire and honor?
I should demand you slay the beast, but he stirs in me such ardor."
"Fie, fie!" Sir Loren cried to her.  "What foolishness is this?
Would you deny your lord and land all for a dragon's kiss?"

Intently he did search her face, then frowned in deep dismay
As she shed a tear for honor's sake, and then sent him away.
"Why smilest thou, Lord Dragon, sir?" asked our hero in armor laden.
"Why'd you smile too," the wyrm replied, "if you'd just eaten a maiden."


 
 
 

God Save the King!

(author unknown)

This little ditty isn't what you think.

King George had a date
He stayed out very late.
He was the king.
King George came in at four.
Queen Jane met him at the door--
God save the king!


 
 

I'm not certain, but I believe this one's by Cynthia McQuillin.  If anyone knows for sure, please write and let me know.

"Lie still my newly married wife, Lie easy as you can.
You're young and ill-accustomed yet o sleeping with a man."
The snow lay thick, the moon shone bright as it shone across the floor.
And without a word his new-wed wife went barefoot out the door.
 

He up and followed sure and fast; the moon shone clear and white.
Before his coat was on his back, his wife was out of sight.
He trod the trail where e'er it led, over many a mound and scree,
And still the barefoot track led on, and an angry man was he.
 

He followed fast; he followed slow.  And still he called her name.
Only the wild dogs in the hills yowled back at him again.
The hair stood up along his neck, his angry mind was gone.
For the track of the two bare feet gave out ... and a four-foot track led on.
 

Her nightgown lay upon the snow as it might upon the sheet.
But the tracks that led from where it lay were ne'er of human feet.
His heart turned over in his chest; he looked from side to side
And he thought more of his blazing fire than he did of his grisly bride.
 

And then he started walking back ... and then began to run.
His quarry wheeled at the end of her tracks and hunted him in turn.
Oh long the fire may burn for him and open stand the door,
And long the bed lay empty, for he'll never see it more.

 
 

celtic line
 

I prithee, an thou hast enjoyed rest and merriment whilst pausing at the Gallery, scribe thy thoughts to the good gentle below.
 
 

Animated Scroll  songsmith@oocities.com
 

Scribed this 28th day of October, 1998
 

 Except for where otherwise noted, all works and character concepts are Copyrighted 1997
 

celtic line



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