As I went out one morning, right careless I did stray, I overheard a sailor bold say to his lady gay: “Oh, Susan, lovely Susan, I soon must leave this shore To cross the briney ocean on a British man-of-war.” Young Susan fell a-weeping and this to him did say: “How can you be so venturesome to throw yourself away? For ’tis when I am twenty-one I shall receive my store, Jolly sailor, do not venture on a British man-of-war.” “Oh, Susan, lovely Susan, the truth to you I’ll tell: The British flag insulted is, Old England knows it well. I may be crowned with laurels, love, but like a jolly tar I will face the wars of China on a British man-of-war.” Then young Henry took his handkerchief, he cut it clean in two, Says he, “One half you keep for me; I’ll do the same for you. I may be crowned with laurels, love, but like a jolly tar I will fight for fame and Susan on a British man-of-war.” “Oh, Susan, lovely Susan, the time will quickly pass, So let’s go down to the ferry house and share a parting glass. For my shipmates they are waiting there to row me from the shore, ’Tis for old England’s glory and a British man-of-war.” So a few more words were spoken, then her love let go her hand; The jovial crew they rowed the boat so merrily from land. And young Henry waved his handkerchief when far away from shore, Pretty Susan blessed her sailor on the British man-of-war. Oh as I walked out one morning, right careless I did stray, I overheard a sailor bold say to his lady gay: “Oh, Susan, lovely Susan, I soon must leave this shore For to cross the briney ocean on a British man-of-war.”

See! see! where freedom's noblest champion stands, And shout! and shout! illustrious patriot band, Here grateful millions their generous tribute bring, And shouts for freedom make the welkin ring, While fell corruption and her hellish crew The blood-stained trophies gained at Peterloo. Soon shall fair freedom's sons their right regain, Soon shall all Europe join the hallowed strain, Of Liberty and Freedom, Equal Rights and Laws Heaven's choicest blessing crown this glorious cause, While meanly tyrants, crawling minions, too, Tremble at their feats performed on Peterloo. Britons be firm assert your rights, be bold Perish like heroes not like slaves be sold, Firmly unite, bid millions be free, Will to your children glorious liberty, While cowards - despots long may keep in view, And silent contemplate, the deeds on Peterloo.

What will we do when we’ll have no money? Oh true lovers, what will we do then? Only hawk through the town for a hungry crown, And we’ll yodel it over again. What will I do if I’d marry a sailor? Oh true lovers, what will we do then? Only sail on his ships, and we'll play on his lips, And we’ll yodel it over again. What will we do if we marry a soldier? Oh true lovers, what will we do then? Only handle his gun and we’ll fight for the fun, And we’ll yodel it over again. What will we do if we have a young daughter? Oh true lovers, what would we do then? Only take it in hand and walk on with my man, And we’ll yodel it over again. So what will we do when we’ll have no money? Oh true lovers, what will we do then? Only hawk through the town for a hungry crown, And we’ll yodel it over again.

For the sake of health I took a walk one morning in the dawn, I met a jolly turfman along the road as I went on, A friendly conversation came between this man and me And that how I came acquainted with the turfman from Ardee. We chatted very freely as we jogged along the road, Says he, “My ass is tired and I’d like to sell my load. For I had no refreshments since I left my home you see, And I’m tired out of travelling,” says the turfman from Ardee. Says I, “My friend, your cart is worn, your ass is very old, It must be twenty summers since the day that he was foaled.” “I remember well when he was born, September ’43 And he cantered from the midwife,” says the turfman from Ardee “And many’s the time I abused the beast with this rough hazel rod, Although I own I never did see poor Jack go unshod. The harness that is on his back, it was made by Sam McGee, And he’s dead this two and twenty years,” says the turfman from Ardee. He said to me "My cart is worn, but it’s tough old Irish wood, It must have been in constant use since the time of Noah’s flood. The axle never wanted grease but one year out of three, It’s a real old Carrick axle,” says the turfman of Ardee. Just then I heard a female voice that I knew very well, Politely asking this poor man his load of turf to sell. I shook the steady old hand of his and he bowed respectfully, And I hope I’ll meet some future day wth the turfman from Ardee.

Come all you maids, and you very pretty maids And a warning take by me Don’t go down to the merry green wood If a maid you want to return and return If a maid you want to return. Lady Margaret, Lady Margaret, she was sitting in her bower She was red as any rose But she longed to go the merry green wood To pull them flowers that grows and grows Aye, to pull the flowers that grows So she hoisted up her petticoat a bit above her knee, And so nimble she ran over the ground, Until she came to that merry green wood To pull them branches down and down, Aye, to pull them branches down. When suddenly up spoke a fine young man, And he was standing by a tree, He said "How dare you pull them branches down, Without no leave from me, and from me, Aye, without no leave from me?” She said “This little wood, it is my very own Me father he given it to me. So I can pull these branches down, Without no leave from thee and from thee, Aye without no leave from thee." Oh, he’s taken her by the lily white hand Down to where the grass it grows so green And what they’ve done, well I just couldn’t say Oh, the green grass grew between and between Aye, the green grass grew between There were four and twenty ladies, they’re all sitting in the hall All as red as the rose All except for young Margaret And pale and wan she goes, and she goes Aye, pale and wan she goes. There were four and twenty ladies, all sitting in the hall Playing at the chess All except for young Margaret She’s green as any grass, any grass, And she’s green as any grass. Up there spake one of the servant girls And she lifted her hand and smiled And said, “I think my lady’s loved a little long And now she goes with child, and with child Aye, and now she goes with child.” And then up spoke another of them girls A pretty little girl was she And said, “I think I know a herb in the merry green wood That'll twine the babe from thee, and from thee Aye, that'll twine the babe from thee.” So Lady Margaret took up her silver comb Made in haste to comb her hair Then she's off away to the merry green wood As fast as she could tear, and could tear Aye, as fast as she could tear. And she hadn’t pulled a herb and a herb And a herb but barely one, When up there spake young Tamlyn Saying, “Margaret, leave it alone Oh, sweetheart, Margaret, leave it alone.” “Why do you pull that bitter, bitter herb The herb that grows so grey Except for to still that pretty little baby That we got in our play, our play, Aye, that we got in our play.” “Oh tell me this, young Tam-’o-Lyn,” she says “If a mortal man you be.” "I'll tell you no lie, sweet Margaret" says he, "I was christened as good as thee, as thee I was christened as good as thee.” “But I rode out on a bitter, bitter day And its from from my horse I fell And the Queen of Elf-land did take me In yonder green hill for to dwell, and to dwell Aye, in yonder green hill for to dwell.” “And every seventh seventh year They pay a toll to hell And the last to come is the first to go. And I fear the toll, it’s myself, it’s myself Aye, I fear the toll’s myself.” “But, tonight it is the Halloween When the Elven Court do ride If you would your lover save By the old mill-bridge you must hide, you must hide By the old mill bridge you must hide.” “And it’s first there’ll come a black horse And it’s then there’ll come a brown And they’re both raced by the white And you hold him tight and fear him not, He's the father of your child, remember He's the father of your child." “And they will change me all in your arms Into many’s the beast so wild You must hold me tight, and fear me not I’m the father of your child, my love I’m the father of your child.” And the woods grew dark, and the woods grew dim Tam o’ the Lyn was gone. She picked up her lily-white feet And to the mill-bridge run, now she run Aye, and to the mill-bridge run. And she looked high, and she looked low She compassed all around But she nothing saw, she nothing heard She heard no mortal sound, no sound No, she heard no mortal sound. Till about the dead hour of the night She heard them bridles ring And oh, my boys, it chilled her heart More than any mortal thing, any thing More than any mortal thing. Then it’s first there come a black horse, and it’s then there come a brown They both raced by the white And she’s flung her arms up round his neck And he didn’t her afright, and afright No, he didn’t her afright. And the thunder roared across the sky And the stars they blazed like day And the Queen of the Elvens give a stunning ? cry, Saying, “Young Tamlyn, he'saway, he's away Aye, Young Tamlyn, he's away.” And the first thing they changed him, all in her arms To a lion that roared so wild But she held him tight and she feared him not He was the father of her child, she knew he was The father of her child. And the next thing they changed him, all in her arms To a hissing snake But she held him tight and she feared him not He was one of God’s own make, oh she knew He was one of God’s own make. And the next thing they changed him, all in her arms To a big black dog to bite But she held him tight and she feared him not He didn’t her afright, and afright No, he didn’t her afright. And the next thing they changed him, all in her arms To a red-hot bar of iron But she held him tight and she feared him not He’d done to her no harm, no harm No, he’d done to her no harm. And the next thing they changed him, all in her arms, Was to a naked man, And she flung her cloak all over him, Saying, “Tamlyn, we’ve won, oh, we’ve won,” Saying, “Tamlyn, we’ve won.” And up then spoke the Elfin Queen, and she's red as any blood, “I should have tore out your eyes young Tamlyn And put in two eyes of wood, of wood I should have put in two eyes of wood.” “And it’s curses on you, Tamlyn,” she said “You once was my very own. And when you was, I should have tore out your heart And put in a heart of stone, cold stone I should have put in a heart of stone.”

Come all you bold and ye rambling young boys, and a warning take by me, For I’d have you quit night walking and shun bad company. For it's Son oh son what have you done? You’re bound for Botany Bay I was born and bred in Whitby town and raised most honestly, Till I became a roving blade, which proved my destiny. Well I broke into some lady’s house about the hour of three And two peelers stood behind the door, and they soon had an hold on me. It was at the quarter sessions that the judge to me did say Well the jury’s found you guilty, you are bound for Botany Bay. Well I’ve seen me aged father there a-trembling at the bar, Likewise me dear old mother, a-tearing her white hair. It was on the 28th of June from England we made way, And as we come down the Humber, we heard them sailors say. Well it’s Boys oh boys there are no joys Down there in Botany Bay Oh there is a lass in Whitby town, and the girl that I long for well And it’s if I had my liberty, along with her I’d dwell.

There is an alehouse where my love goes, Where my love goes and sits himself down, He takes a stranger on his knee, Now don't you think that's a grief to me? A grief, a grief and I'll tell you for why, Because she has more gold than I. But gold will glitter and silver will shine, 'Til in a short time, she'll be poor as I. Go dig my grave both wide and deep, A marble stone both head and feet, And in the middle a turtle-dove, To show the world I died for love. I wish, I wish, oh I wish in vain, I wish I were a maid again, But a maid again I never shall be, 'Til apples grow on an orange tree.

When Julius Fabricius, Sub-Prefect of the Weald, In the days of Diocletian owned our Lower River-field, He called to him Hobdenius—a Briton of the Clay, Saying: "What about that River-piece for layin' in to hay?" And the aged Hobden answered: "I remember as a lad My father told your father that she wanted dreenin' bad. An' the more that you neeglect her the less you'll get her clean. Have it jest as you've a mind to, but, if I was you, I'd dreen." So they drained it long and crossways in the lavish Roman style — Still we find among the river-drift their flakes of ancient tile, And in drouthy middle August, when the bones of meadows show, We can trace the lines they followed sixteen hundred years ago. Then Julius Fabricius died as even Prefects do, And after certain centuries, Imperial Rome died too. Then did robbers enter Britain from across the Northern main And our Lower River-field was won by Ogier the Dane. Well could Ogier work his war-boat—well could Ogier wield his brand— Much he knew of foaming waters—not so much of farming land. So he called to him a Hobden of the old unaltered blood, Saying: "What about that River-piece; she doesn't look no good ?" And that aged Hobden answered "'Tain't for me to interfere. But I've known that bit o' meadow now for five and fifty year. Have it jest as you've a mind to, but I've proved it time on ' time, If you want to change her nature you have got to give her lime!" Ogier sent his wains to Lewes, twenty hours' solemn walk, And drew back great abundance of the cool, grey, healing chalk. And old Hobden spread it broadcast, never heeding what was in't— Which is why in cleaning ditches, now and then we find a flint. Ogier died. His sons grew English—Anglo-Saxon was their name— Till out of blossomed Normandy another pirate came; For Duke William conquered England and divided with his men, And our Lower River-field he gave to William of Warenne. But the Brook (you know her habit) rose one rainy autumn night And tore down sodden flitches of the bank to left and right. So, said William to his Bailiff as they rode their dripping rounds: "Hob, what about that River-bit—the Brook's got up no bounds?" And that aged Hobden answered: "'Tain't my business to advise, But ye might ha' known 'twould happen from the way the valley lies. Where ye can't hold back the water you must try and save the sile. Hev it jest as you've a mind to, but, if I was you, I'd spile!" They spiled along the water-course with trunks of willow-trees, With planks of elms behind 'em and immortal oaken knees. And when the spates of Autumn whirl the gravel-beds away We can see their faithful fragments, iron-hard in iron clay. Georgii Quinti Anno Sexto, I, who own the River-field, Am fortified with title-deeds, attested, signed and sealed, Guaranteeing me, my assigns, my executors and heirs All sorts of powers and profits which—are neither mine nor theirs, I have rights of chase and warren, as my dignity requires. I can fish—but Hobden tickles—I can shoot—but Hobden wires. I repair, but he reopens, certain gaps which, men allege, Have been used by every Hobden since a Hobden swapped a hedge. Shall I dog his morning progress o'er the track-betraying dew ? Demand his dinner-basket into which my pheasant flew ? Confiscate his evening faggot under which my conies ran, And summons him to judgment ? I would sooner summons Pan. His dead are in the churchyard—thirty generations laid. Their names were old in history when Domesday Book was made; And the passion and the piety and prowess of his line Have seeded, rooted, fruited in some land the Law calls mine. Not for any beast that burrows, not for any bird that flies, Would I lose his large sound counsel, miss his keen amending eyes. He is bailiff, woodman, wheelwright, field-surveyor, engineer, And if flagrantly a poacher—'tain't for me to interfere. "Hob, what about that River-bit ?" I turn to him again, With Fabricius and Ogier and William of Warenne. "Hev it jest as you've a mind to, but"—and here he takes command. For whoever pays the taxes old Mus' Hobden owns the land.