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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 

 
 OLT> TIME V,1LLAT>S.
 
 And quaff'd his cup of good old sack. 
 
 The Fine Old Engl i Gentleman.
 
 OLD TIMS 
 
 "BJLLdTtS. 
 
 Illustrated bv 
 
 JOHN EYRE, R.B.A. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Ernest Nister. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 E. P. DUTTON & CO. 
 
 Printed i>i Bavaria.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 o 
 
 The Fine Old English Gentleman 
 
 Sally in Our Alley 
 
 Here's to the Maiden of Bashful 
 
 Fifteen 
 
 The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington 
 Black-Eyed Susan . 
 Kitty of Coleraine 
 The Lass of Richmond Hill 
 Simon the Cellarer 
 The Jolly Young Waterman 
 On the Banks of Allan Water 
 The Leather Bottel 
 My Pretty Jane 
 Auld Robin Gray . 
 Tom Bowling . 
 The Miller of Dee 
 
 PAGE 
 
 7 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 18 
 
 21 
 26 
 
 28 
 
 3i 
 
 34 
 39 
 4 1 
 50 
 52 
 58 
 60 
 
 1074105

 
 OLD TIME BALLADS 
 
 THE FID^E OLT> S^QLISII 
 
 [This ballad is anonymous, and is said to have been 
 modelled upon a still older ditty.] 
 
 I'LL sing you a good old song, 
 Made by a good old pate, 
 Of a fine old English gentleman, 
 
 Who had an old estate ; 
 And who kept up his old mansion 
 
 At a bountiful old rate, 
 With a good old porter to relieve 
 
 The old poor at his gate — 
 Like a fine old English gentleman, 
 
 All of the olden time. 
 
 His hall so old was hung around 
 With pikes, and guns, and bows, 
 
 And swords and good old bucklers 
 That had stood against old foes;
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 Twas there ''his worship'' sat in state, 
 
 In doublet and trunk hose, 
 And quaff d his cup of good old sack 
 
 To warm his good old nose — 
 Like a fine old English gentleman, 
 
 All of the olden time. 
 
 When winter's cold brought frost and snow, 
 
 He open'd his house to all; 
 And though three-score and ten his years. 
 
 He featly led the ball. 
 X r was the houseless wanderer 
 
 E'er driven from his hall; 
 For while he feasted all the great, 
 
 He ne'er forgot the small — 
 Like a fine old English gentleman, 
 
 All of the olden time. 
 
 But time, though sweet, is strong in flight, 
 
 And years roll swiftly by; 
 And autumn's falling leaves proclaim'd 
 
 The old man — he must di 
 He laid him down quite tranquilly, 
 
 Gave up his latest sigh; 
 And mournful stillness reign'd around, 
 
 And tears bedew'd each eye — 
 For this good old English gentleman, 
 
 All of the olden time.
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 Now, surely this is better far 
 
 Than all the new parade 
 « >f theatres and fancy balls, 
 
 "At home" and masquerade! 
 And much more economical, 
 
 For all his bills were paid. 
 Then leave your new vagaries quite, 
 
 And take up the old trade — 
 Of a fine old English gentleman, 
 
 All of the olden time.
 
 S-JLLT ID^ OU^ <ALLZY. 
 
 [By Henry Carey, b. 1663, d. 1 743.] 
 
 r\F all the girls that are so smart, 
 There's none like pretty Sally; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 There is no lady in the land 
 
 That's half so sweet as Sally : 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Her father he makes cabbage-nets, 
 
 And through the streets does cry 'em; 
 Her mother she sells laces long 
 
 To such as please to buy 'em. 
 But sure such folks could ne'er beget 
 
 So sweet a girl as Sally: 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley.
 
 For the /i I'm dress' d all in my best. 
 To walk abroad with Sallv.
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 13 
 
 When she is by, I leave my work 
 
 (I love her so sincerely), 
 My master comes, like any Turk, 
 
 And bangs me most severely. 
 But let him bang his belly full, 
 
 I'll bear it all for Sally : 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Of all the days that's in the week, 
 
 I dearly love but one day; 
 And that's the day that comes betwixt 
 
 A Saturday and Monday. 
 For then I'm dress'd all in my best, 
 
 To walk abroad with Salty : 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master carries me to church, 
 
 And often am I blamed 
 Because I leave him in the lurch 
 
 As soon as text is named. 
 I leave the church in sermon time, 
 
 And slink away to Sally: 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley.
 
 14 
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 When Christmas comes about again, 
 
 Oh! then I shall have money; 
 I'll hoard it up, and box and all 
 
 I'll give it to my honey. 
 I would it were ten thousand pounds, 
 
 I'd give it all to Sally: 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master and the neighbours all 
 
 Make game of me and Sally ; 
 And (but for her) I'd better be 
 
 A slave, and row a galley. 
 But when my seven long years are out, 
 
 Oh! then I'll marry Sally: 
 Oh! then we'll wed, and then we'll bed, 
 
 But not in our allev.
 
 Heme's TO THE m^lTtEV^ 
 OF "BASHFUL FIFTSE^. 
 
 [From the corned)' of " The School for Scandal," by 
 R. B. Sheridan, b. 1751, d. 1816.] 
 
 TJERE'S to the maiden of 
 
 bashful fifteen, 
 Now to the widow of fifty; 
 Here's to the flaunting 
 
 extravagant quean, 
 And here's to the housewife 
 
 that's thrifty: 
 Let the toast pass, 
 Drink to the lass — 
 I warrant she'll prove an 
 
 excuse for the glass. 
 
 Here's to the charmer 
 
 whose dimples we prize, 
 Now to the damsel with none, sir ;
 
 l6 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 Here's to the girl with 
 
 a pair of blue eyes, 
 And now to the nymph 
 
 with but one, sir : 
 Let the toast pass, 
 Drink to the lass— 
 I warrant she'll prove an 
 
 excuse for the glass. 
 
 Here's to the maid with 
 
 a bosom of snow, 
 Now to her that's as brown as a berry 
 Here's to the wife with 
 
 a face full of w T oe, 
 And now to the damsel 
 
 that's merry : 
 Let the toast pass, 
 Drink to the lass — 
 I warrant she'll prove an 
 
 excuse for the glass. 
 
 For let her be clumsy, 
 
 or let her be slim, 
 Young or ancient, I care not a feather; 
 So fill up a bumper, nay, 
 
 fill to the brim,
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 17 
 
 And let us e'en toast 
 
 'em together 
 Let the toast pass, 
 Drink to the lass — 
 I warrant she'll prove an 
 
 excuse for the glass.
 
 TH€ "BAILIFF'S D^UQHTS^ 
 OF ISLlCs^gTO^. 
 
 [A ballad in Pepys' collection, now in the Bodleian. 
 The Islington of the ballad is supposed to be in Norfolk.] 
 
 y^HERE was a youth, and a 
 
 well-beloved youth, 
 And he was a squire's son ; 
 He loved the bailiff's daughter dear 
 That lived in Islington. 
 
 
 Yet she was coy, and would not believe 
 
 That he did love her so. 
 No; nor at any time would she 
 
 Any countenance to him show. 
 
 But when his friends did understand 
 
 His fond and foolish mind, 
 They sent him up to fair London 
 
 An apprentice for to bind. 
 
 And when he had been seven long years, 
 And never his love could see: 
 
 "Many a tear have I shed for her sake, 
 When she little thought of me."
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 19 
 
 Then all the maids of Islington 
 Went forth to sport and play, 
 
 All but the bailiff's daughter dear- 
 She secretly stole away. 
 
 She pulled off her gown of green, 
 And put on ragged attire, 
 
 And to fair London she would go, 
 Her true love to inquire. 
 
 And as she went along the high road, 
 The weather being hot and dry, 
 
 She sat her down upon a green bank, 
 And her true love came riding by.
 
 20 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 She started up, with a colour so red, 
 Catching hold of his bridle-rein; 
 
 "One penny, one penny, kind sir," she said, 
 "Will ease me of much pain." 
 
 "Before I give you one penny, sweetheart, 
 Pray tell me where you were born?" 
 
 "At Islington, kind sir," said she, 
 "Where I have had many a scorn." 
 
 "I pr'ythee, sweetheart, then tell to me, 
 
 O tell me, whether you know 
 The bailiff's daughter of Islington?" 
 
 " She is dead, sir, long ago." 
 
 "If she be dead, then take my horse, 
 
 My saddle and bridle also; 
 For I will into some far countrie, 
 
 Where no man shall me know." 
 
 "() stay, O stay, thou goodly youth, 
 
 She standeth by thy side: 
 She is here alive, she is not dead— 
 
 And ready to be thy bride." 
 
 "O farewell grief, and welcome joy, 
 
 Ten thousands times therefore! 
 For now I have found my own true love, 
 
 Whom I thought I should never see more."
 
 [Written by J. Gay, b. 1688, d. I7.^^] 
 
 A LL in the Downs the fleet was moored, 
 The streamers waving in the wind, 
 When black-eyed Susan came on board : 
 "Oh! where shall I my true love find? 
 Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, 
 If my sweet William sails 
 
 among your crew? " 
 
 William, who high upon the yard, 
 
 Rocked by the billows to and fro, 
 Soon as her well-known voice he heard, 
 
 He sighed, and cast his eyes below : 
 The cord glides swiftly through 
 
 his glowing hands, 
 And, quick as lightning, 
 
 on the deck he stands.
 
 
 22 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 So the sweet lark, high poised in air, 
 Shuts close his pinions to his breast 
 
 (If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear), 
 And drops at once into her nest : 
 
 The noblest captain in the British fleet 
 
 Alight envy William's lips those kisses sweet. 
 
 "Oh, Susan! Susan! lovely dear! 
 
 My vows shall ever true remain; 
 Let me kiss off that falling tear, 
 
 We only part to meet again : 
 Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall be 
 The faithful compass that still points to thee. 
 
 "Believe not what the landsmen say, 
 
 Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; 
 
 They tell thee — sailors when away 
 In every port a mistress find! 
 
 Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 
 
 For thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 
 
 "If to fair India's coast we sail. 
 
 Thine eyes are seen in diamonds bright; 
 Thy breath in Afric's spicy gale, 
 
 Thy skin in ivory so white: 
 Thus every beauteous object that I view 
 Wakes in my soul some charm of lovelv Sue.
 
 Let me kiss off that falling tear, 
 We only fart to meet again.
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 25 
 
 "Though battle call me from thy ar 
 Let not my pretty Susan mourn; 
 
 Though cannons roar, yet free from harm 
 William shall to his dear return : 
 
 Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, 
 
 Lest precious tears should drop 
 
 from Susan's eye." 
 
 The boatswain gave the dreadful word, 
 The sails their swelling bosoms spread; 
 
 No longer must she stay on board: 
 
 They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. 
 
 Her lessening boat, unwilling, rows to land; 
 
 "Adieu!" she cried, and waved her lily hand. 
 
 1
 
 KJ7TT OF COLSl^IO^e. 
 
 [By Edward Lysaght, b. 1763, d. 18 10.] 
 
 A S beautiful Kitty one 
 
 morning was tripping 
 With a pitcher of milk from 
 
 the fair of Coleraine, 
 When she saw me she stumbled, 
 
 the pitcher it tumbled, 
 And all the sweet buttermilk 
 
 water 'd the plain. 
 
 "Oh, what shall I do now? 
 
 'Twas looking at you, now ; 
 Sure, sure, such a pitcher 
 
 I'll ne'er meet again. 
 'Twas the pride of 1113- dairy, 
 
 O Barney M'Leary, 
 You're sent as a plague to the 
 
 girls of Coleraine !
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 27 
 
 I sat down beside her, and 
 
 gently did chide her, 
 That such a misfortune should 
 
 give her such pain. 
 A kiss then I gave her. 
 
 Before I did leave her 
 She vow'd for such pleasure 
 
 she'd break it again. 
 
 'Twas haymaking season. I can't 
 
 tell the reason — 
 Misfortunes will never come 
 
 single, that's plain — 
 For very soon after 
 
 poor Kitty's disaster 
 The devil a pitcher was 
 
 whole in Coleraine.
 
 
 TH6 LdSS OF <RJCHMO${T> HILL. 
 
 [By James Upton, b. 1670, d. 1749. This ballad is said 
 to have been a great favourite with King George III.] 
 
 /ON Richmond Hill there lives a lass 
 More bright than May-day morn, 
 Whose charms all other maids surpass— 
 A rose without a thorn. 
 
 This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet, 
 Has won my right good-will ; 
 
 I'd crowns resign to call her mine- 
 Sweet lass of Richmond Hill. 
 
 Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air, 
 And wanton through the grove, 
 
 Oh, whisper to my charming fair, 
 I'd die for her I love ! 
 
 How happy will the shepherd be 
 Who calls this nymph his own! 
 
 Oh, may her choice be fix'd on me! 
 Mine's fix'd on her alone.
 
 On Richmond Hill there lives a lass.
 
 [The author of this quaint old ballad was W 
 H. Bellamy.] 
 
 /HLD Simon the cellarer keeps 
 
 a large store 
 Of Malmsey and Malvoisie, 
 And Cyprus and who can 
 
 say how many more ? 
 For a chary old soul is he, 
 A chary old soul is he; 
 Of Sack and Canary he never doth fail, 
 And all the year round 
 
 there is brewing of ale ; 
 Yet he never aileth, 
 
 he quaintly doth say, 
 While he keeps to his sober 
 
 six flagons a da) 7 : 
 But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew 
 How oft the black Jack 
 
 to his lips doth go; 
 But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew 
 How oft the black Jack 
 
 to his lips doth go.
 
 32 01. D TIME BALLADS. 
 
 Dame Margery sits in 
 
 her own still-room, 
 And a Matron sage is she; 
 From thence oft at Curfew 
 
 is wafted a fume, 
 She says it is Rosemarie, 
 She says it is Rosemarie; 
 But there's a small cupboard 
 
 behind the back stair, 
 And the maids say they 
 
 often see Margery there. 
 Now, Margery says that 
 
 she grows very old 
 And must take a something 
 
 to keep out the cold ! 
 But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know 
 Where many a flask of 
 
 his best doth go ; 
 But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know 
 Where many a flask of 
 
 his best doth go. 
 
 Old Simon reclines in his 
 
 high-back'd chair, 
 And talks about taking a wife; 
 And Margery often is heard to declare 
 She ought to be settled in life, 
 She ought to be settled in life.
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 33 
 
 But Margery has (so the 
 
 maids say) a tongue, 
 And she's not very handsome, 
 
 and not very young ; 
 So somehow it ends with a 
 
 shake of the head, 
 
 And Simon he brews him 
 
 a tankard instead ; 
 While ho ! ho ! ho ! he will 
 
 chuckle and crow, 
 What ! marry old Margery ? no, no, no ! 
 While ho! ho! ho! he will 
 
 chuckle and crow, 
 What! marry old Margery? no, no, no!
 
 TH€ JOLLY TOUD^Q WjlT£%jM<AN 
 
 [By Charles Dibdin, b. 1745, d. 1814.] 
 
 /IND did you ne'er hear of 
 
 a jolly young waterman, 
 Who at Blackfriars-bridge 
 
 used for to ply ? 
 And he feathered his oars with 
 
 such skill and dexterity, 
 Winning each heart and 
 
 delighting each eye. 
 He look'd so neat, and 
 
 he row'd so steadily, 
 The maidens all flock'd in 
 
 his boat so readily ; 
 And he eyed the young rogues 
 
 with so charming an air, 
 That this waterman ne'er 
 
 was in want of a fare.
 
 The maidens all flock' d in his boat so readily.

 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 37 
 
 What sights of fine folks he 
 
 oft row'd in his wherry ! 
 'Tvvas clean'd out so nice, and 
 
 so painted withal; 
 He was always first oars when 
 
 the fine city ladies 
 In a party to Ranelagh 
 
 went, or Vauxhall. 
 And oftentimes would they be 
 
 giggling and leering, 
 But 'twas all one to Tom 
 
 their gibing and jeering ; 
 For loving or liking he 
 
 little did care, 
 For this waterman ne'er was 
 
 in want of a fare. 
 
 And yet but to see how 
 
 strangely things happen, 
 As he row'd along, thinking 
 
 of nothing at all, 
 He was ply'd by a damsel so 
 
 lovely and charming, 
 That she smil'd, and so straightway 
 
 in love he did fall. 
 And would this young damsel 
 
 but banish his sorrow,
 
 38 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 He'd wed her to-night, 
 
 and not wait till to-morrow; 
 And how should this waterman 
 
 ever know care, 
 When, married, was never 
 
 in want of a fair. 

 
 
 Or\^ THE < B*AO^ j KJ OF ,{LL,J^ 
 WtATE^. 
 
 [By M. G. Lewis, b. 1773, d. 18 18.] 
 
 SIN the banks of Allan Water, 
 
 When the sweet Springtime did fall, 
 Was the miller's lovely daughter, 
 
 The fairest of them all. 
 For his bride a soldier sought her, 
 
 And a winning tongue had he: 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 
 None so gay as she.
 
 4° 
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 
 When brown Autumn spreads its store, 
 Then I saw the miller's daughter, 
 
 But she smiled no more; 
 For the Summer grief had brought her, 
 
 And the soldier false was he: 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 
 None so sad as she. 
 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 
 When the Winter snow fell fast, 
 Still was seen the miller's daughter, 
 
 Chilling blew the blast. 
 But the miller's lovely daughter, 
 
 Both from cold and care was free: 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 
 There a corpse lay she.
 
 THE LS^IHE^ <BOTT€L. 
 
 [The words of this ballad date from the seventeenth 
 century, though the author of them is unknown.] 
 
 1JTWAS God above that 
 
 made all things, 
 The heav'ns, the earth, 
 
 and all therein : 
 The ships that on 
 
 the sea do swim 
 To guard from foes 
 
 that none come in ; 
 And let them all 
 
 do what they can, 
 'Twas for one end — 
 
 the use of man. 
 So I wish in heav'n 
 
 his soul may dwell 
 That first found out 
 
 the leather bottcl. 
 6
 
 
 42 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 Now, what do you say- 
 to these cans of wood? 
 Oh, no, in faith they 
 
 cannot be good ; 
 For if the bearer 
 
 fall by the way, 
 Why, on the ground your 
 
 liquor doth lay; 
 But had it been in 
 
 a leather bottel, 
 Although he had fallen 
 
 all had been well. 
 So I wish in heav'n 
 
 his soul may dwell 
 That first found out 
 
 the leather bottel. 
 
 Then what do you say 
 
 to these glasses fine ? 
 Oh, they shall have 
 
 no praise of mine ; 
 For if you chance 
 
 to touch the brim, 
 Down falls the liquor 
 
 and all therein.
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 43 
 
 But had it been in 
 
 a leather bottel, 
 And the stopple in, 
 
 all had been well. 
 So I wish in heav'n 
 
 his soul may dwell 
 That first found out 
 
 the leather bottel. 
 
 Then what do you say to 
 
 these black pots three ? 
 If a man and his wife 
 
 should not agree, 
 Why, they'll tug and pull till 
 
 their liquor doth spill; 
 In a leather bottel they 
 
 may tug their fill,
 
 44 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 And pull away till 
 
 their hearts do ake, 
 And yet their liquor 
 
 no harm can take. 
 So I wish in heav'n 
 
 his soul may dwell 
 That first found out 
 
 the leather bottcl. 
 
 Then what do you say 
 
 to these flagons fine ? 
 Oh, they shall have 
 
 no praise of mine ; 
 For when a lord is 
 
 about to dine, 
 And sends them to 
 
 be filled with wine, 
 The man with the 
 
 flagon doth run away, 
 Because it is silver 
 
 most gallant and gay. 
 So I wish in heav'n 
 
 his soul may dwell 
 That first found out 
 
 the leather bottcl.
 
 The man with the flagon doth run away. 
 Because it is silver most gat/ant and gay.
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 A leather bottcl we 
 
 know is good, 
 Far better than glasses 
 
 or cans of wood ; 
 For when a man's at 
 
 work in the field 
 Your glasses and pots 
 
 no comfort will yield; 
 But a good leather 
 
 bottel standing by 
 Will raise his spirits 
 
 whenever he's dry. 
 So I wish in heav'n 
 
 his soul may dwell 
 That first found out 
 
 the leather bottel. 
 
 47 
 
 At noon the haymakers 
 
 sit them down, 
 To drink from their bottles 
 
 of ale nut-brown ; 
 In summer, too, when 
 
 the weather is warm, 
 A good bottle full will 
 
 do them no harm.
 
 ±8 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 Then the lads and the lasses 
 
 begin to tottle, 
 But what would they do 
 
 without this bottle? 
 So I wish in heav'n 
 
 his soul may dwell 
 That first found out 
 
 the leather bottcl. 
 
 There's never a lord, 
 
 an earl, or knight, 
 But in this bottle 
 
 doth take delight ; 
 For when he's hunting 
 
 of the deer 
 He oft doth wish for 
 
 a bottle of beer. 
 Likewise the man that 
 
 works in the wood, 
 A bottle of beer will 
 
 oft do him good. 
 So I wish in heav'n 
 
 his soul may dwell 
 That first found out 
 
 the leather bottcl.
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 49 
 
 And when the bottle 
 
 at last grows old, 
 And will good liquor 
 
 no longer hold, 
 Out of the side you 
 
 may take a clout, 
 To mend your shoes when 
 
 they're worn out; 
 Or take and hang 
 
 it up on a pin, 
 'Twill serve to put hinges 
 
 and odd things in. 
 So I wish in heav'n 
 
 his soul may dwell 
 That first found out 
 
 the leather bottel.
 
 
 [This favourite ballad was written by Edward Fitzball. 
 
 TV/TY pretty Jane, my pretty Jane! 
 
 Ah ! never, never look so shy ; 
 But meet me in the evening, 
 
 While the bloom is on the rye. 
 The spring is waning fast, my love, 
 
 The corn is in the ear, 
 The summer nights are coming, love, 
 
 The moon shines bright and clear. 
 Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane! 
 
 Ah ! never look so shy, 
 But meet me in the evening, 
 
 While the bloom is on the rye.
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 5 1 
 
 But name the day, the wedding day, 
 
 And I will buy the ring; 
 The lads and maids in favours white 
 
 And village bells shall ring. 
 The spring is waning fast, my love, 
 
 The corn is in the ear, 
 The summer nights are coming, love, 
 
 The moon shines bright and clear. 
 Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane! 
 
 Ah! never look so shy, 
 But meet me in the evening, 
 
 While the bloom is on the rye. 

 
 
 [This ballad was written in 177 1. The~author of 
 it, Lady Anne Lindsay, was born at Balcarres, 
 Scotland, 1750, and died 1825.] 
 
 JJ/'HEN the sheep are in the fauld, 
 
 and the kye at hame, 
 And a' the warld to sleep are gane, 
 The waes o' my heart fa' in 
 
 showers frae my ee, 
 When my gudeman lies sound by me. 
 
 Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and 
 
 socht me for his bride; 
 But, saving a croun, he had 
 
 nae thing else beside. 
 To mak that croun a pund 
 
 young Jamie gaed to sea, 
 And the croun and the pund 
 
 were baith for me.
 
 "Jennie, for their sakes, o/i, marry meV
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 55 
 
 He hadna been awa a 
 
 week but only twa, 
 When my mother she fell sick, 
 
 and the cow was stown awa ; 
 My father brak his arm, and' 
 
 young Jamie at the sea, 
 
 And auld Robin Gray 
 
 cam' a-courtin' me. 
 
 My father couldna work and 
 
 my mother couldna spin; 
 I toiled day and nicht, but 
 
 their bread I couldna win ; 
 Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, 
 
 and, wi' tears in his ee, 
 Said, "Jennie, or their 
 
 sakes, oh, marry me!" 
 
 My heart it said nay, for I 
 
 look'd for Jamie back ; 
 But the wind it blew high, and 
 
 the ship it was a wreck; 
 The ship it was a wreck — 
 
 why didna Jamie dee ? 
 Or why do I live 
 
 to say, Wae's me?
 
 56 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 My father argued sair, 
 
 my mother didna speak, 
 But she lookit in my face till 
 
 my heart was like to break; 
 Sae they gied him my hand, 
 
 though my heart was in the sea; 
 And auld Robin Gray 
 
 was gudeman to me. 
 
 I hadna been a wife a 
 
 week but only four, 
 When, sitting sae mournfully 
 
 at the door, 
 I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I 
 
 couldna think it he, 
 Till he said, " I'm come back 
 
 for to marry thee." 
 
 Oh, sair did we greet and 
 
 muckle did we say, 
 We took but ae kiss and 
 
 we tore ourselves away; 
 I wish I were dead! but 
 
 I'm no like to dee; 
 And why do I live to 
 
 say, Wae's me ?
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 57 
 
 I gang like a ghaist, and 
 
 I carena to spin ; 
 I daurna think on Jamie, 
 
 for that wad be a sin. 
 But I'll do my best a 
 
 gude wife to be, 
 For auld Robin Gray 
 
 is kind unto me.
 
 TOlM HOWLlWJj. 
 
 [By Charles Dibdin. 
 
 ZJERE, a sheer hulk, lies 
 
 poor Tom Bowling, 
 The darling of our crew; 
 No more he'll hear the 
 
 tempest howling, 
 For death has broach'd him to. 
 His form was of the 
 
 manliest beauty, 
 His heart was kind and soft; 
 Faithful below he 
 
 did his duty, 
 But now he's gone aloft.
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 59 
 
 Tom never from his 
 
 word departed, 
 His virtues were so rare; 
 His friends were many 
 
 and true-hearted, 
 His Poll was kind and fair. 
 And then he'd sing, 
 
 so blithe and jolly; 
 Ah, many's the time and oft ! 
 But mirth is turn'd 
 
 to melancholy, 
 For Tom is gone aloft. 
 
 Yet shall poor Tom find 
 
 pleasant weather, 
 When He who all commands, 
 Shall give, to call life's 
 
 crew together, 
 The word to pipe all hands. 
 Thus Death, who kings 
 
 and tars dispatches, 
 In vain Tom's life has doff 'd ; 
 For though his body's 
 
 under hatches, 
 His soul is gone aloft.
 
 THE iMILLER^ OF T>€€. 
 
 [An old ballad, remodelled by Isaac Bickerstaffe 
 in 1762.] 
 
 'THERE was a jolly miller once 
 
 lived on the river Dee, 
 He danced and sang from morn till 
 
 night, no lark so blythe as he; 
 And this the burden of his 
 
 song for ever used to be : 
 "I care for nobody, no, not I, 
 
 if nobody cares for me. 
 
 "I live by my mill, God bless her! 
 
 she's kindred, child, and wife; 
 I would not change my station 
 
 for any other in life. 
 No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor, 
 
 e'er had a groat from me, 
 1 care for nobody, no, not I, 
 
 if nobody cares for me.''
 
 ^5\W5^ 
 
 When spring begins his merry career,
 
 OLD TIME BALLADS. 
 
 63 
 
 When spring begins his merry career, 
 
 oh! how his heart grows gay; 
 No summer's drought alarms his fears, 
 
 nor winter's cold decay; 
 No foresight mars the miller's joy, 
 
 who's wont to sing and say: 
 " Let others toil from year to year, 
 
 I live from day to day." 
 
 Thus, like the miller, bold and free, 
 
 let us rejoice and sing, 
 The days of youth are made for glee, 
 
 and time is on the wing ; 
 This song shall pass from me to thee, 
 
 along the jovial ring, 
 Let heart and voice and all agree 
 
 to say, "Long live the King!"

 
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