The Wandering Bard

Melody - Robert Tannahill
www.acronet.net/~robokopp

Chill the wintry winds were blowing,
Foul the murky night was snowing,
Through the storm the minstrel, bowing,
Sought the inn on yonder moor.

All within was warm and cheery,
All without was cold and dreary,
There the wand'rer, old and weary,
Thought to pass the night secure.

Softly rose his mournful ditty,
Suiting to his tale of pity;
But the master, scoffing, witty,
Check'd Inns strain with scornful jeer:

"Hoary vagrant, frequent comer,
Canst thou guide thy gains of summer?--
No, thou old intruding thrummer,
Thou canst have no lodging here."

Slow the bard departed, sighing;
Wounded worth forbade replying;
One last feeble effort trying,
Faint he sunk no more to rise.

Through his harp the breeze sharp ringing,
Wild his dying dirge was singing,
While his soul, from insult springing,
Sought its mansion in the skies.

Now, though wintry winds be blowing,
Night be foul, with raining, snowing,
Still the trav'ller, that way going,
Shuns the inn upon the moor
Though within 'tis warm and cheery,
Though without 'tis cold and dreary,

Still he minds the minstrel weary,
Spurn'd from that unfriendly door.

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Wassail Song

Wassail and wassail all over the town,
The cup it is white and the ale it is brown;
The cup it is made of the good old ashen tree
And so is our beer of the best barley.
To you wassail!

Aye, and joy come to our jolly wassail
O maid, O maid with your silver headed pin,
Pray open the door and let us all in,
All for to fill our wassail bowl, and so away again

O maid, O maid, with your glove and you mace
Pray come unto this door and show your pretty face,
For we are truly weary of standing in this place.
O master and mistress, if you are so well pleased,

Pray set all on you table your white bread and your cheese,
And put forth your roast beef, your porrops and your pies.
O master and Mistress, If we’ve done any harm
Pray pull fast this door and let us pass along,

And give us a hearty thanks for sining of our song.

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Wearin' of the Green

Traditional
Midi and sheet http://sniff.numachi.com/~rickheit/dtrad/lookup.cgi?ti=WEARGREN&tt=WEARGREN

Oh! Paddy dear, and did you hear, the news that's goin' round.
The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground;
St. Patrick's day no more we'll keep, His color can't be seen,
For there's a cruel law agin' the wearin' of the green.

I met with Napper Tandy and he took me by the hand,
And he said, "How's poor old Ireland, and how does she stand?"
She's the most distressful country that ever you have seen;
They're hangin' men and women there for wearin' of the green.

Then since the color we must wear, is England's cruel red,
Sure Ireland's sons will ne'er forget the blood that they have shed.
You may take the shamrock from your hat, and cast it in the sod,
But 'twill take root and flourish still, tho' underfoot 'tis trod.

When the law can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow,
And when the leaves in summertime their verdure dare not show,
Then I will change the color I wear in my Caubeen,
But 'till that day, I'll stick for aye to wearin' of the green.

But if at last our color should be torn from Ireland's heart,
Her sons with shame and sorrow from the dear old soil will part.
I've heard whisper of a country that lies far beyond the sea,
Where rich and poor stand equal, in the light of freedom's day;

Oh, Erin must we leave you, driven by the tyrant's hand?
Must we ask a mother's welcome from a strange but happy land?
Where the cruel cross of England's thralldom never shall be seen,
And where, in peace, we'll live and die, a-wearin' of the green.

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Westering Home

Traditional
Tune: Muckin’ O’ Geordie’s Byre
Midi and sheet http://sniff.numachi.com/~rickheit/dtrad/lookup.cgi?ti=WESTHOME&tt=WESTHOME

Chorus:

Westering home with a song in the air
Light of me eye and if s goodbye to care
Laughter and love are a welcoming there
Pride of me heart my own love [or: Isle of heart, my own one]

Tell me a tale of the orient gay
Tell me of riches that come from Cathay
Ah but it's grand to be waken at day
And find oneself nearer to Isla

Chorus

Where are the folks like the folks of the west
Canty and couthy and kindly, our best
There I would hie me and there I would rest
At hame wi' my ain folks in Isla

Chorus

Now I'm at home and at home I do lay
Dreaming of riches that come from Cathay
I'll hop a good ship and be on my way
And bring back my fortune to Isla

Chorus

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Well before the battle sister

Well before the battle, sister
When the sky is crowned with stars,
And the world is clean of wounded,
And the ground is free of scars.
Well before the battle, sister,
When content with what we know,
We will sing the lovely ballads.
From the long and long ago.

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Welsh History 101

Tune: Ash Grove
By: Unknown
by Heather Rose Jones
http://shorty.mudcat.org/!!-song99.cfm?stuff=fall99+D+13027260
midi and sheet http://sniff.numachi.com/~rickheit/dtrad/lookup.cgi?ti=WELSHIST&tt=ASHGROV1

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

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We Will Sing the Songs of Scotland

(Traditional?)

We will sing the songs of Scotland
Now that we are gathered here
We will sing the songs of Scotland,
oh this land we hold so dear

Of the Hielan's and the Lowlands,
we will sing them all and then
Just because we love them
we will sing them all again

There are stirring, spirit songs of war
Where we march the gallant man
There are songs of hearth and home
Of the mountian and the glen

There are songs of joy to make us glad
And song of sadness too
And sweet the songs of love
And they all belong to you

We will sing the songs of Scotland
Now that we are gathered here
We will sing the songs of Scotland,
oh this land we hold so dear

Of the Hielan's and the Lowlands,
we will sing them all and then
Just because we love them
we will sing them all again

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Wha'll Be King But Charlie

-Silly Wizard

CHORUS:

Come through the heather, around and gather
You are the welcomer early
Come round the flame, we are your kin
For wha'll be King but Charlie

Come through the heather, around and gather
You are the welcomer early
To crown your Rightful, Lawful King
For wha'll be King but Charlie

The news fae moight, that came last night
Will soothe your mind, but fairly
For ships o' war hae just come in
and landed Royal Charlie

Chorus

The Heilan' clans wi' sword in hand
Fae Johnny great stay early
They to a man declare to stand
Or fall wi' Royal Charlie

Chorus

The Lowlands army great and small
Wi' money ya' love and wealth
They declared for Scotlands King and Law
And spear ya wha' fer Charlie

Chorus

And heres a Health tae Charlies Cause
Be it completened early
His very name would warm the heart
To arms for Royal Charlie

Chorusx2

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Where Go The Maids

Mikal Hrafspa (Mikal the Ram)
Notes from Mikal:
Years ago, I met the ladies of Harpies' Hall, the deadliest group of costumers on the Knowne Planet! I wanted a song for them, and all I could hear in my head was "Girls just wanna have fun." This came out of the mix...

Where go the maids on summer's day
When the Falcon bears their men away

Chorus

Sing willow a willow away hey hey
Sing willow a willow away

Gone to the hall to step a dance
While their good lovers break a lance

Chorus

And drink they mead where it is kept
While their good lovers drink their sweat

Chorus

And trade they kisses with young beaus
While their good husbands trade at blows

Chorus

And when the Falcon comes to nest
They welcome their good men to rest

Chorus

For lords may ken to battle's run
But a lady too will have her fun

Chorus

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Whip It In, Whip It Out

-Modern Traditional

I put my hand upon her leg yo ho, yo ho
I put my hand upon her leg yo ho, yo ho
I put my hand upon her leg
She said "My lord don't tease me so"

CHORUS:

Whip it in, whip it out, quit fucking about
Yo ho, yo ho, yo ho

I put my hand upon her thigh, yo ho, yo ho
I put my hand upon her thigh, yo ho, yo ho
I put my hand upon her thigh
She said "my lord you're getting me high"

I put my hand upon her hair, yo ho, yo ho
I put my hand upon her hair, yo ho, yo ho
I put my hand upon her hair
She said " My lord you're getting there"

I put my hand upon her teat, yo ho, yo ho
I put my hand upon her teat, yo ho, yo ho
I put my hand upon her teat
She said "my lord, you've missed a bit"

I put my hand upon her twat, yo ho, yo ho
I put my hand upon her twat, yo ho, yo ho
I put my hand upon her twat
She said " My lord you're getting me hot"

Now my loves in an old pine box, yo ho, yo ho
Now my loves in an old pine box, yo ho, yo ho
Now my loves in an old pine box

She couldn't handle a ten inch cock

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The Wild Rover

-Traditional

I've been a wild rover for many a year,
And I've spent all my money on whiskey and beer,
But now I'm returning with gold in great store,
And I never will play the wild rover no more.

CHORUS

And it's no, nay, never. No, nay, never, no more, |
Will I play the rover. No never, no more. |

I went to an ale house I used to frequent,
And I told the landlady my money was spent.
I asked her for credit, she answered me nay.
Such custom like yours I could have any day.

CHORUS

I took from my pocket ten sovereigns bright,
And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight,
She said, "I have whiskeys and wines of the best,
And I'll take you upstairs, and I'll show you the rest."

CHORUS

I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done,
And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son.
And if they caress me as oft times before,
I never will play the wild rover no more!

CHORUS

Guitar chords (from http://www.chivalry.com/cantaria/lyrics/wildrovr.html)

Verse:

G C

G D7 G

G C

G D7 G

Chorus:

D7 D

D C

C G C

G D7 G

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Will Ye No Come Back Again?

Melody - Seq. by Barry Taylor
Carolina Oliphant, (Lady Nairne), 1766-1845 v. 1-3, 7

Bonnie Charlie's now awa',
Safely owre the friendly main;
Mony a heart will break in twa,
Should he no' come back again.

Chorus:

Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,
Will ye no come back again?

Ye trusted in your Hieland men,
They trusted you, dear Charlie;
They kent you hiding in the glen.
Your cleadin' was but barely.

Chorus:

We watched you in the gloamin' hour,
We watched thee in the mornin' grey;
Tho' thirty thousand pounds they'd gie,
Oh, there was nane that wad betray.

Chorus:

Mony a traitor 'mange the isles
Brak the band o' nature's laws;
Mony a traitor wi' his wiles,
Sought to wear his life awa'.

Chorus:

Many a gallant sodger gaught,
Mony a gallant chief did fa,
Death itself were dearly bought,
A' for Scotland's king and law.

Chorus:

Whene'er I hear the blackbird sing,
Unto the evening sinking down,
Or merl that makes the wood to ring,
To me they hae nae other sound.

Chorus:

Sweet the lav'rock's note and lang,
Lilting wildly up the glen;
And aye the o'er world o' he sang,
"Will he no' come back again?"

Chorus:

Charles Edward Stuart "Bonnie Prince Charlie" or the Young Pretender, was the last Stuart claimant to the
British throne. He led the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745, which ended at the Battle of Culloden. After the battle legend
has it he escaped with the help of Flora MacDonald. He wandered around Europe for a few years but was never
able to further his cause.

www.acronet.net/~robokopp

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Will ye go Lassie?

(aka Wild Mt. Thyme)
copy right Jimmy McPeake
Recorded by the McPeake Family, Redpath, Clancy’s etc
http://sniff.numachi.com/~rickheit/dtrad/lookup.cgi?ti=WILDMTHY&tt=WILDMTHY

Oh, the summer time is coming,
And the trees are sweetly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie go.

Refrain

And we’ll All go together,
To pluck wild mountain thyme,
All around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie go?

I will build my love a tower.
Near yon pure crystal fountain,
And on it I will build.
All the flowers of the mountain.
Will ye go, Lassie go?

Refrain

If my true love she were gon,
I would surely find another,
Where the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather,
Will ye go, lassie, go?

Refrain

Oh, the summer time is coming,
And the trees are sweetly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie go.

Refrain

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Wi' My Dog an Gun

(Traditional- From Silly Wizard, So Many Partings)

Wi' my dog and gun, through the bloomin' heather,
For game and pleasure I took my way.
I met a maid, she was tall and slender,
Her eyes enticed me some time to stay.

I said "Fair maid, do you know I love you?
Tell me your name and your dwelling, oh so?"
"Oh, excuse my name, but you'll find my dwelling
By the mountain streams where the millcocks crow."

I said "Fair maid, if you wed a farmer,
You'll be tied for life tae one plot of land.
I'm a rovin' Johnny, if you gane wi' me,
You will have no ties, so gi' me your hand."

"Ah, but if my parents knew I loved a robber,
It is that I'm sure would be my overthrow,
So I'll stay at home for another season
By the mountain streams where the millcocks crow."

"So it's fare thee well, love, another season,
We will meet again in yon woodland vale,
And I'll set ye down all upon my knee, love,
And I'll listen to your lovesick tale.

"And it's arm in arm we will go together
Through the lofty trees, in the valley below,
Where the lenties sing their song so sweetly
By the mountain streams where the millcocks crow."

Wi' my dog and gun, through the bloomin' heather,
For game and pleasure I took my way.
I met a maid, she was tall and slender,
Her eyes enticed me some time to stay.

I said "Fair maid, do you know I love you?
Tell me your name and your dwelling, oh so?"
"Oh, excuse my name, but you'll find my dwelling
By the mountain streams where the millcocks crow."

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The Witch of the West-Mer-Lands

(Archie Fisher)
Copyright 1976, Ard-Ri Music, Dublin.
Words only http://sniff.numachi.com/~rickheit/dtrad/lookup.cgi?ti=WITWESTM

G C / G C / G Am / C D7 /

Pale was the wounded knight
That bore the rowan shield
Loud and cruel were the raven's cries
That feasted on the field, saying:

Beck water, cold and clear,
Will never clean you wound.
There's none but the Maid of the Winding mere
Can make thee hale and soond.

So course well, my brindled hounds,
And fetch me the mountain hare
Whose coat is a grey as the Wastwater
Or as white as the lily fair, who said
Green moss and heather bands
Will never staunch the flood.

There's none but the Witch of the West-mer-lands
Can save thy dear life's blood.

So turn, turn you stallion's head
Till his red mane flies in the wind
And the rider of the moon gaes by
And the bright star falls behind.

And clear was the paley moon
When his shadow passed him by;
Below the hill was the brightest star
When he heard the houlet cry, saying

Why do you ride this way,
And wharfore cam' ye here?
I seek the Witch of the West-mer-lands
That dwells by the winding mere.

Then fly free your good grey hawk
To gather the golden rod,
And face your horse into the clouds
Above yon gay green wood.

And it's weary by Ullswater
And the misty brake fern way
Till through the cleft o' the Kirkstane Pass
The winding water lay.

He said, Lie down, my brindled hound,
And rest my good grey hawk,
And thee, my steed, may graze thy fill,
For I must dismount and walk.

But come when you hear my horn
And answer swift the call,
For I fear e'er the sun shall rise this morn
You will serve me best of all.

And down to the water's brim
He's borne the rowan shield,
And the golden rod he has cast in
To see what the lake might yield.

And wet rose she from the lake,
And fast and fleet gaed she,
One half the form of a maiden fair
With a jet black mare's body.

And loud, long, and shrill he blew
And his steed was by his side;
High overhead his grey hawk flew
And swiftly he did ride, saying:

Course well, my brindled hounds,
And fetch me the jet black mare.
Stoop and strike, my 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 the velvet blue,
Bound 'round with a silver chain.
She's kissed his pale lips aince and twice
And three time 'round again.

And she's bound his wound with the golden rod;
Full fast in her arms he lay,
And he has risen hale and soond
Wi' the sun high in the day. She said:

Ride with you brindled hounds at heel
And your good grey hawk in hand.
There's nane can harm a knight wha's lain
With the Witch of the West-mer-land.

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Wittingham's Fair

(Traditional)

Are you going to Wittinghams Fair
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
For once she was a true love of mine

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt...
Without any seam or fine needlework..
Tell her to wash it in yonder dry well
Where water ne'er sprung nor drop of rain fell

Tell her to dry it on yonder thorn
Which never bore blossom since Adam was born
Now he has asked me questions three
I hope he will answer as many for me

Oh, will you find me an acre of land
Between the sea foam and the sea sand
Oh, will you plow it with a lamb's horn
And sow it all over with one peppercorn

Oh, will you reap it with a sickle of leather
And tie it all up with a peacock's feather
And when you have done and finished your work
Come to me for your cambric shirt

Are you going to Wittinghams Fair?
Remember me to one who lives there

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Wop Jamboree

Traditional sea shanty

Wop Jamboree, wop jamboree
Oh a long-tailed sailor man comin' up behind
Wop Jamboree, wop jamboree
Come an' get your oats me son

The pilot he looked out ahead
The hands on the cane and the heavin' of the lead
And the old man roared to wake the dead
Come and get your oats me son

Oh. now we see the lizard light
Soon, me boys, we'll heave in sight
We'll soon be abreast of the Isle of Wright
Come and get your oats me son

Now when we get to the black wall dock
Those pretty young girls come out in flocks
With short-legged drawers and long-tailed frocks
Come and get your oats me son

Well. when we get to Lanaus Lane
On all the girls will spend our pay
We'll not sign on 'til another day
Come and get your oats me son

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Worms of the earth

Lyrics and music: Clam Chowder

Chorus:

For we are the worms of the earth,
Against the lions of might.
All of our days we are tied to the land
While they hunt and they feast and they fight.

We give our crops and our homes and our lives,
And the clerics tell us this is right.
Well, they’ve beat us before
And they’ll beat us again,
But we’ll drink from their helmets tonight.

My father worked on the land,
As did his father before him
Plowing and sowing by hand,
And he harvested what the land bore him.

He was killed by the robbers before I was ten.
One stroke of the sword, and then they were gone,
While our lord strutted bravely atop his tall wall
And did nothing to hinder the slaughter.

(Chorus)

Our lord went away to the wars
Mounted atop a tall stallion,
To fight for some noble cause
With his knights and his henchmen to guard him.

We heard he’d been captured with all of his men;
And for that they raised our taxes again
To pay the great ransom in gold and in gems.
To bring our lord back to rule us.

(Chorus)

This year there was a great drought;
Our crops they burned in the field.
Not that our lord did without,
For his men took all that they found.

When our lord came among us with some of his men
To announce that our taxes were raised yet again;
Then a few of us acted on our desperate plan,
And his body was meat for the crows.

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Wraggle Taggle Gypsy

(Traditional)

Three gypsies came to our hall door,
They came brave and boldly, Oh,
And the one sang high, and the other sang low,
Made the lady sing the wraggle taggle gypsy, Oh.

Upstairs and down, the lady went,
She put on silk and leather, Oh,
And the cry's gone up all around the door,
She's away with the wraggle taggle gypsy, Oh.

Well, late last night the lord came home,
Inquiring for his lady, Oh,
And the serving girls replied to him all,
She's away with the wraggle taggle gypsy, Oh.

The saddle for me, the fastest steed,
Me big horse is not speedy, Oh,
I'll ride far and wide to seek for me bride,
She's away with the wraggle taggle gypsy, Oh.

He rode fast east, and he rode west,
He rode north and south, also,
And it's when he has come to the wide open field,
It's there that he's found his lady, Oh.

Oh, why would you leave your house and lands,
Why would you leave your money, Oh,
Why would you leave your only wedded lord,
To follow with the wraggle taggle gypsy, Oh.

Oh, what do I care for my house and land,
What care I for money, Oh,
What do I care for my only wedded lord,
When I can have my wraggle taggle gypsy, Oh.

Last night you slept in your goose feather bed,
With the sheets turned down so boldy, Oh,
Tonight you lie in the wide open field,
In the arms of the wraggle taggle gypsy, Oh.

Oh, what do I care for a goose feather bed,
And sheets to turn so boldy, Oh,
When I can lie in the wide open field,
In the arms of my wraggle taggle gypsy, Oh.

For you rode east, and I rode west,
You rode high and I rode low,
I'd rather have the kiss of my yellow gypsy's lips,
Than all of your cache of money, Oh.

Three gypsies came to our hall door,
They came brave and boldy, Oh,
And the one sang high, and the other sang low,
And the lady sang the wraggle taggle gypsy, Oh.

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Ye Mariners All

-Traditional

Ye Mariners all as ye pass by
Come in and drink if you are dry
Come spend my lads your money Brisk
And pop your nose in a jug of this

Oh Mariners all as ye part the ground
You're welcome all for to sit down
Come spend my lads your money Brisk

And pop your nose in a jug of this
Oh Tipplers all as you pass by
Come in and drink if you are dry
Come in and drink, think not Amiss

And pop your nose in a jug of this
And now I'm old and can scarcely crawl
I've a long grey beard and a head that's bald
From my desire, fulfill my Bliss

A pretty girl, and a jug of this
And when I'm in my grave and dead
And all my sorrows have past and fled
Transform me then into a fish
And let me swim in a jug of this

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Your local SCA

(to the tune of " God rest ye merry gentlemen")

Arrest these merry gentles, nay, it would be so unkind
If you’ll just wait a moment, sir, we will relieve your mind.
We are not escaped lunatics, so kindly us unbind,

For we are your local SCA, SCA
For we are your local SCA.

These men aren’t wearing dresses, sir, those are not pantyhose
No, those are tights and tunics, sir, they are medieval clothes
And men were really macho then, as everybody knows,
So please do not look upon us that way, that way,
For we are your local SCA.

We recreate past ages, sir, and that is all we do.
Please give our swords and knives to us, we’d like our axes too.
Return us all our weapons, sir, the act you will not rue,
For we mostly use them for display, display,

For we are your local SCA.

Oh, we pavanne in public, sir, the horse bransle do, also.
Full many a fine feast attend, and to a revel go.
And all that night we sing and drink, for free the mead doth flow.
Then drive four hundred miles the next day, the next day,

For we are your local SCA.

We have a King and Queen who do, our loyalty command.
We’re the College of St. Golias, the finest in the land,
And we are on our way to court, but not the one you planned.
Oh, please let us go upon our way, our way,

For we are your local SCA.

Arrest these merry gentles, nay, discretion you should use,
For we are lords and ladies, sir, so how can you refuse.
I say? That is a lady, sir, you should not her abuse,
It is not genteel to act this way, this way,
And lock up your local SCA!

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