Conservatory - J Songs

Jack Orion

(Traditional ~ from Pentangle)

Never trust another with business you should handle yourself! Another murderous ballad, quite similar to Matty Groves/Little Musgrave. Hmmmmm...have you ever noticed that ballad music is pretty much interchangeable?

Jack Orion was as good a fiddler
As ever fiddled on a string
He could drive young women mad
To the tune his fiddle would sing

He could fiddle the fish out of salt water
Or water from a marble stone
Or milk out of a maiden's breast
Though baby she'd got none

He's taken his fiddle into his hand
He's fiddled and he's sung
And oft he's fiddled unto the King
Who never thought it long

As he sat fiddling in the castle hall
He's played them all so sound asleep
All but for the young princess
And for love she stayed awake

At first he played a slow grave tune
And then a gay one flew
And many's the sigh and loving word
That passed between the two

Come to my bower, sweet Jack Orion
When all the men are at rest
As I am a lady true to my word
Thou shalt be a welcome guest

He's lapped his fiddle in a cloth of green
A glad man, Lord, was he
Then he's run off to his own house
Says, Tom come hither unto me

When day has dawned and the cocks have crown
And flapped their wings so wide
I am bidden to that lady's door
To stretch out by her side

Lie down in your bed, dear master
And sleep as long as you may
I'll keep good watch and awaken you
Three hours before 'tis day

But he rose up that worthless lad
His master's clothes did don
A collar he's cast about his neck
He seemed the gentleman

Well he didn't take that lady gay
To bolster nor to bed
But down upon the bower floor
He quickly had her laid

And he neither kissed her when he came
Nor when from her he did go
And in and out of her window
The moon like a coal did glow

Ragged are your stockings love
Stubbley is your cheek and chin
And tangled is that yellow hair
That I saw yester''een

The stockings belong to my boy Tom
They're the first come to my hand
The wind it tangled my yellow hair
As I road o'er the land

Tom took his fiddle into his hand
So saucy there he sang
Then he's off back to his master's house
As fast as he could run

Wake up, wake up my good master
I fear 'tis almost dawn
Wake up, wake up the cock has crowed
'Tis time tha tyou were gone

Then quickly rose up Jack Orion
Put on his cloak and shoon
And cast a collar about his neck
He was a lord's true son

And when he came to the lady's bower
He lightly rattled the pin
The lady was true to her word
She rose and let him in

Oh whether have you left with me
Your bracelet or your glove?
Or are you returned back again
To know more of my love?

Jack Orion swore a bloody oath
By oak and ash and bitter thorn
Saying, Lady I never was in your house
Since the day that I was born

Oh then it was yoru young footpage
That has so cruelly beguiled me
And woe that the blood of the ruffian lad
Should spring in my body
Then she pulled forth a little sharp knife
That hung down at her knee

O'er her white feet the red blood ran
Or ever a hand could stay
And dead she lay on her bower floor
At the dawning of the day

Jack Orion ran to his own house
Saying, Tom my boy come here to me
Come hither now and I'll pay your fee
And well paid you shall be

If I had killed a man tonight
Tom I would tell it thee
But if I have taken no life tonight
Tom thou has taken three

Then he pulled out his bright brown sword
And dried it on his sleeve
And he smote off that vile lad's head
And asked for no man's leave

He set the sword's point to his breast
The pommel to a stone
Through the falseness of that lying lad
These three lives were all goneJack Orion was as good a fiddler as ever fiddled on a string

Jack Orion (Version II)

I much prefer this happier tune ~ at least no one dies!

Jack Orion was as good a fiddler as ever fiddled on a string
And he could make young women mad to the tunes his fiddle would sing
He could fiddle fish out of the salt water,
or water from the marble stone
Or the milk out of a maiden's breast though baby she got none.

As he rode out with his lady gay right early on a summer's morn
They heard three blasts sound loud and shrill as comes from
a hunting horn
Then from the wood came baying hounds with coats of white
and eyes of red
Before the King of Fairy's hunt these ghostly hounds they sped

The fairy king he next appeared all crowned in his majesty
He shot his dart in the lady's heart and away with him rode she
Jack Orion rode for a day and night until he came to the fairy ring
It's there he took his fiddle out and set the bow to string

First he fiddled the notes of joy and next he fiddled
the notes of pain
He fiddled then a fairy reel his lady for to gain
The fairies danced in a circle mad, they could not stop while the
fiddle played
The fairy king cried, "What will you take to leave our forest glade?"

"Oh, give to me my lady gay that thou didst steal so late from me
It's then my fiddle shall cease to play and I'll be gone from thee."
First he fiddled the notes of joy and next he fiddled
the notes of pain
They gave to him his lady gay, crying, "Ne'er return again!"

Jack Orion was as good a fiddler as ever fiddled on a string
And he could make young women mad to the tunes his fiddle would sing
He could fiddle fish out of the salt water,
or water from the marble stone
Or the milk out of a maiden's breast though baby she got none.

Jeannie C.

(Stan Rogers)

Stan Rogers was an adept at the modern day folk song. The world lost a great artist the day he died.

Come all ye lads, draw near to me
That I be not forsaken
This day was lost the JEANNIE C.
And my living has been taken
I'll go to sea no more

We set out this day in the bright sunlight
The same as any other
My son and I and old John Price
In the boat named for my mother

Now, it's well you know how the fishing has been
It's been scarce and hard and cruel
But this day, by God, we sure caught cod
And we sang and laughed like fools

I'll never know just what we struck
But strike we did like thunder
John Price gave a cry and pitched overside
Now it's forever he's gone under

A leak we've sprung, let there be no delay
If the JEANNIE C. we're saving
John Price is drowned and slipped away
I'll patch the hole while you're bailing

But no hole I found from bow to hold
No rock it was that got her
But what I saw made my heart stop cold
For every seam poured water

My God, I cried as she went down
That boat was like no other
My father built her when I was nine
And named her for my mother

And sure, I could have another built
In the boatshop down in Dover
But I would not love the keel they laid
Like the one the waves roll over

So come all ye lads, draw near to me
That I be not forsaken
This day was lost the JEANNIE C.
And my whole life has been taken

John Barleycorn

(traditional)

The things men do for a good brew. This version is from Steeleye Span's Below the Salt.

There were three men come out of the West
Their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn should die!
John Barleycorn should die!
(nb: 4th line of each verse is sung twice)

They plowed, they sowed, they harrowed him in,
Threw clods upon his head,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn was dead!

CHORUS: Fa la la la, it's a lovely day!
Sing fa la la lay O!
Fa la la la, it's a lovely day!
Sing fa la la lay O!

They let him lie for a very long time
'Til the rain from Heaven did fall,
Then Little Sir John sprung up his head,
And so amazed them all!

CHORUS

They let him stand 'til Midsummer tide,
'Til he grew both pale and wan,
Then Little Sir John he grew a long beard,
And so became a man!

CHORUS

They hired men with the scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee
They rolled him and tied him about the waist,
And used him barbarously!

CHORUS

They hired men with the sharp pitchforks
To pierce him to the heart,
And the loader he served him worse than that,
For he tied him in a cart!

CHORUS

They wheeled him around and around the field,
'Til they came to a barn,
And there they made a solemn mow
Of poor John Barleycorn.

CHORUS

They hired men with the crab-tree sticks
To strip him skin from bone
And the Miller he served him worse than that:
For he ground him between two stones!

CHORUS

They have wheeled him here and wheeled him there
And wheeled him to a barn,
And they have served him worse than that
They have bunged him in a vat!

CHORUS

They have worked their will on John Barleycorn
But he lived to tell the tale;
For they pour him out of an old brown jug,
And they call him home-brewed ale!

CHORUS

Here's Little Sir John in a nut-brown bowl,
And brandy in a glass!
And Little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
Proved the stronger man at last!

CHORUS

For the huntsman he can't hunt the fox
Nor loudly blow his horn,
And the tinker can't mend kettles nor pots
Without John Barleycorn!

John Riley

(traditional)

My first heard this song on a Joan Baez album. It's not what the reencactors would call "in period," but has a nice sound. Personally, if a fellow did this to me, I'd deck him!

Fair young maid all in a garden
Strange young man passing by
Says "Fair young maid will you marry me?"
This then was her reply.

"Oh, No, kind sir, I cannot marry thee,
For I've a love who sails the salt sea.
He's been gone for seven years,
Still no man shall marry me."

"What if he's in some battle slain,
Or drowned in the salt salt sea?
What if he's found another love
And he and his love both married be?"

"If he's in some battle slain,
Then I will die ere the moon doth wane.
If he's drowned in the salt salt sea,
I'll be true to his memory.

"And if he's found another love,
And he and his love both married be,
I wish them health and happiness
Where they dwell across the sea."

He picked her up all in his arms
and kisses gave her, one, two, three.
Saying "Weep no more my own true love,
I am your long lost John Riley."
Saying "Weep no more my own true love,
I am your long lost John Riley."

and then she decked him....oops! I added that last line myself! ;-)

Johnny Be Fair

(Traditional ~ from Buffy Saint Marie)

Ladies, always listen to yer mother!

Oh, Johnny be fair and Johnny be fine and wants me for to wed.
And I would marry Johnny but me father up and said,
"I'm sad to tell you, daughter, what your mother never knew,
But Johnny is a son of mine, and so is kin to you."

Oh, Jimmy be fair, and Jimmy be fine and wants me for to wed.
And I would marry Jimmy but me father up and said,
"I'm sad to tell you, daughter, what your mother never knew,
But Jimmy, too, is a son of mine, and so is kin to you."

Oh, Geordie be fair, and Geordie be fine and wants me for to wed.
And I would marry Geordie but me father up and said,
"I'm sad to tell you, daughter, but it's the same old tale,
But Geordie is a son of mine and you would burn in Hell."

Well, you never saw a girl so sad and sorrowed as I was,
The boys in town are all me kin and me father is the cause!
If life should thus continue I will die a single miss,
So I will go to Mother and complain to her of this.

"Well, daughter, haven't I taught you to forgive and to forget,
And if your father sowed his oats, well, still you needn't fret.
Your father may be father to all the boys, but still,
He's not the one who sired you, so marry who you will!"

Johnny O'Braidesley

(Child 114)

I heard the most beautiful version of this song on Planxty's The Woman I Loved So Well album. If you ever find recordings made by this now defunct band, I strongly urge you to purchase them. I've never heard a bad arrangement. Another version can be found on Ewan MacColl's series of English and Scottish Popular Ballads published by Fokways Records. In this version, Johnny dies. In the Scots version, he slays his attackers and lives to win the day. I suppose this says something about the philosophy of the Irish and the Scots.

Oh Johnny rose on a May morning,
called for water to wash his hands,
says "Bring to me my two grey dogs,
lay bound in iron bands."

When Johnny's mother she heard of this,
she wrung her hands full sore,
says "Johnny for your venison,
to the green woods do not go."

"For there are seven foresters in Esselmun,
and this ye know full well,
for one small drop of your heart's blood,
they would ride through the gates of hell."

"Oh there's many men are my friend, Mother,
though many more are my foe.
But betide me well or betide me ill,
a-hunting I will go."

So Johhny has taken his good bent bow,
his arrows one by one,
and he's away to Monny Mousk
for to bring the dun deer down.

Oh Johnny shot and the dun deer leapt,
he's wounded her in the side,
and between the water and the woods,
the two dogs laid her pride.

And they ate so much of the venison,
they drank so much of the blood,
that Johnny and his two grey dogs
fell asleep as if they had been dead.

And by there came a sly old man,
a sly old man was he.
And he's away away to Esselmun
for to tell on young Johnny.

"As I came in by Monny Mousk
and down among yon skrogs,
it's there I spied the bonniest youth
lying sleeping between two dogs."

"And the buttons that were on his coat,
were of the gold so good.
And the two grey dogs that he lay between,
their mouths they were dyed with blood."

Then up and spoke the first forester,
he was headsman over them all.
"Can this be Johnny of Braidesley?
Unto him we will draw."

And the very first shot that the foresters fired
it wounded him in the thigh,
and the very next shot that the foresters fired,
his heart's blood blinded his eye.

Then up woke Johnny from out of his sleep,
an angry man was he.
He said "The wildest wolf in all this wood
would not of done so by me.

And he's leaned his back against an Oak,
his foot against a stone,
and he has fired on the seven foresters.
He's killed them all but one.

And he's broken seven of this man's ribs,
his arm and his collarbone.
And he has set him onto his horse
to bring the tidings home.

Johnny's good bent bow is broke,
and his two grey dogs are slain,
and his body lies in Monnymusk,
and his hunting days are done.

Jolly Farmers

(Traditional)

Another drinking song...does this say something about me? ;-)

Come each jolly fellow that seeks to be mellow
Attend unto me and sit easy
For a pint when its quiet
Me lads let us try it
Dull thinking will drive a man crazy
I have lawns, I have bowers
I have fruit, I have flowers
And the lark is my morning alarmer
So be jolly boys now
Here's good luck to the plow
Long life and success to the farmer

Draw near to my table, my lads, when you're able
Let me hear not one word of complaining
For the tinkling of glasses all music surpasses
And I love to see bottles a-draining
For here I am king
I will dance, drink and sing
Let no man appear as a stranger
And show me the ass that refuses a glass
And I'll treat him to hay in a manger

Let the wealthy and great roll in splendor and state,
I envy them not, I declare it.
I eat my own ham, my own chicken and lamb
I shear my own fleece and I wear it.
By plowing and sowing
By reaping and mowing
King nature affords me a plenty
I've a cellar well stored
And a plentiful board
And a garden affords every dainty

Jolly Good Ale & Old

(Gammer Gurton's Needle)

The words are from one of the oldest comedies in English. Ralph Vaughn Williams reputedly wrote a melody for them in his opera Sir John in Love. "Crab" refers to crabapple.

I cannot eat but little meat,
My stomach is not good,
But well I think that I can drink
With him that wears a hood.
Though I go bare, take ye no care,
I nothing am a-cold;
I stuff my skin so full within
Of jollyl good ale and old,
Jolly good ale and old.

Chorus: Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old,
Whether it be new or old.

I care right naught, I take no thought
For clothes to keep me warm,
Have I good drink, I surely think
That none can do me harm,
For surely then I fear no man,
Though never he so bold,
When I am arm'd and throughly warm'd
With jolly good ale and old,
Jolly good ale and old.

I love no roast but a nut-brown toast,
And a crab laid in the fire;
A little bread shall do me stead,
Much bread I never desire
No frost or snow or wind, I trow,
Can hurt me if it would,
When I am arm'd and throughly warm'd
With jolly good ale and old,
Jolly good ale and old.

They that do drink till they nod and wink
Even as good fellows should do,
They shall not miss to have the bliss
That good ale hath brought them to.
So all poor souls that scour black bowls
And them hath lustily troll'd
God save the lives of them and their wives
Whether they be young or old!

Jolly Red Nose

(Thomas Ravenscroft Deuteromelia ~ 2nd & 3rd verses from Oak, Ash & Thorn's God Bless the Human Elbow)

Beer really used to be brewed using the spices spoken of in the song as hops were still Dutch and highly unusual. Aren't you glad you don't live in the 16th Century?

Of all the birds that ever I see
The owl is the fairest in her degree.
For all the day long she sits in a tree
And when the night comes away flies she.
To Wit! To Woe! To whom drink thou?
Sir Knave to you.

Chorus: This song is well sung, I make you a vow
And he is a knave that drinketh now.
Nose, nose, jolly red nose.
And who gave thee that jolly red nose?
Cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and cloves,
And that gave me my jolly red nose.

I care for no fool whose purse is not full,
But he that hath money I never find dull.
And if he still hath it when hence he doth go
I'll trample my tankard and never drink mo'.
A-rack! A-roo! To whom drinks thou?
Sir Knave to you.

I'll not have a maiden that's never been tried,
But give me a wanton to lie by my side.
And this have I used as the rule of my life:
That wanton is best that's another man's wife.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! To whom drinks thou?
Sir Knave, to you.

Jolly Well Drunk

(traditional)

Why are there only drinking songs, but no hangover songs? I have never felt jolly then!

Now some folks'll tell you that drinkings a curse,
Others'll tell you it's quite the reverse,
Some people drink all their days to employ,
Some drink in haste aye and some drink for joy,
Some drink when they're christened and some when they're wed,
Some drink your jolly good health when you're dead,
Some drink on all these occasions, like I,
For I drank at my birth and I'll drink 'til I die.

Chorus: And I means to get jolly well drunk, I do,
I means to get jolly well drunk, I do,
As long as I'm here, I'll stick to my beer,
I means to get jolly well drunk, I do.

I'll drink 'til the high price of coal becomes small,
'Til ale and roast beef they cost nothing at all,
And I'll drink 'til men have no more reason to strike,
And man values work just as much as he likes,
I'll drink 'til the laws give a man no denial,
For taking a wife for a month upon trial,
'Til Dukes and the Lords have to sort clean from dirt,
And the young Prince of Wales has to wash his own shirt.

I'll drink 'til the landlords all choke as they guzzle,
And I mean to keep drinking 'til Bobbies are muzzled,
'Til dandies are worth nowt but the clothes they put on,
I'll drink 'til Old Peabody's moneys all gone,
I'll drink 'til the laws of the land are made fair,
That punish a poor man for killing a hare,
And I'll drink 'til all wealth is shared out among men,
And I'll drink and I'll drink 'til it's shared out again.

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

songsmith@oocities.com

Scribed this 21st Day of November, 1998

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

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