“Goin’ ’Cross the Mountain” is a song about a Union soldier volunteer leaving his home to join the army. It shows youthful enthusiasm (before he’s going to be confronted with harsh reality).
“Goin’ ’Cross the Mountain” has been passed along from Frank Proffitt’s family. Listen to Pete Seeger’s version, from his Live in ’65 album:
I’m goin’ across the mountain
Oh fare you well
Goin’ ’cross the mountain
You can hear my banjo tell
Got my rations on my back
My powder it is dry
Goin’ across the mountain
Oh Chrissy don’t you cry.
Goin’ across the mountain
To join the boys in blue
When this fightin’s over
I’ll come back to you.
Goin’ across the mountains
If I have to crawl
To give old Jeff’s men
A little of my rifle ball
’Spect you’ll miss me when I’m gone
But I’m goin’ through
When this fighting’s over
I’ll come back to you
Way before it’s good daylight
If nothing happens to me
I’ll be way down yonder
In old Tennessee
Phil Cooper writes: I am a guitar playing singer of mainly traditional songs. I also like a lot of unusual contemporary songs written in the folk style (I like clever word usage, regardless of its origins). Since 2007, I have been performing with my spouse, Susan Urban, as the duo February Sky. Previously, I performed with Margaret Nelson and Kate Early.
Submitted by Lafayette Matthews
Heather Wood, musing in the liner notes of Poor Old Horse’s album The Curate’s Egg, called “Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still” an “evocative song of love lost.” For such a short song, it packs a wallop of emotion and borderline-supernatural imagery befitting the dreary thoughts of a nineteenth-century sailor on the night watch.
“Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still” was written by J.E. Carpenter and set to music by W.T. Wrighton around 1864. It was then collected by Frank and Anne Warner from sisters Eleazar Tillett and Martha Etheridge on the Outer Banks of North Carolina in 1951.
Listen to Poor Old Horse (Heather Wood, Tom Gibney, and David Jones) performing their version of “Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still:”
W.T. Wrighton, J.E. Carpenter As Sung by Poor Old Horse
It’s been a year since last we met
We may never meet again
I have struggled to forget
But the struggle was in vain
For her voice lives on the breeze
Her spirit comes at will
In the midnight on the seas, her bright smile haunts me still
In the midnight on the seas, her bright smile haunts me still
I have sailed the seven seas
I have weathered winter’s blast
I have seen the storm arise
Like a giant in his wrath
Every danger I have known
That a reckless life can yield
Though her presence is now flown, her bright smile haunts me still
Though her presence is now flown, her bright smile haunts me still
At the first grey dawn of light
When I gaze upon the deep
Her form still greets my sight
While the stars their vigil keep
When I close my aching eyes
Sweet dreams my memory fill
And from sleep when I arise, her bright smile haunts me still
And from sleep when I arise, her bright smile haunts me still
Lafayette Matthewsis a singer from Virginia, currently living in New York City. He sings with Jules Peiperl and Lindsey Smith as The Ranzo Boys.
Submitted by Cindy Kallet
This song, crafted by the inimitable and much-missed Dick Swain from a poem by Hiram Cody, tells the story of a old wood carver, who, even as his eyesight falters and his hands become less sure, can still remember in vivid detail his experience of carving the figurehead for the Marco Polo, built in St. John, New Brunswick in 1851, and considered at the time to be the fastest clipper ship in the world. Dick set the poem to music and added a chorus.
Below are links to both Dick Swain and John Roberts singing the song. Unfortunately, the video of Dick doesn’t start until partway through the first verse, but you can hear his own melody to the chorus, and then John’s modification of it.
Adapted from a poem by Hiram Cody in Songs of a Bluenose, McClelland & Stewart, Toronto, Canada, 1925 Music & chorus by Dick Swain
I have done my share of carving figureheads of quaint design
For the Olives and the Ruddicks and the famous Black Ball Line
Brigantines and barks and clippers, brigs and schooners, lithe and tall
But the bounding Marco Polo was the flower of them all.
Chorus:
While my hands are steady, while my eyes are good,
I will carve the music of the wind into the wood.
I can see that white-winged clipper reeling under scudding clouds
Tramping down a hazy skyline with a Norther in her shrouds
I can feel her lines of beauty, see her flecked with spume and brine
As she drives her scuppers under, and that figurehead of mine.
‘Twas of seasoned pine I made it, clear from outer bark to core
From the finest piece of timber, from the mast-pond on Straight Shore
Every bite of axe or chisel, every ringing mallet welt
Wrought from out that block of timber all the spirit that I felt.
I had read of Marco Polo, til his daring deeds were mine
And I say them all a-glowing in that balsam-scented pine
Saw his eyes alight with purpose, facing every vagrant breeze
Saw him lilting free and careless over all the seven seas.
That was how I did my carving, beat of heart and stroke of hand
Putting into life and action all the purpose that I planned
Flowing robes and wind-tossed tresses, forms of beauty, strength, design
I saw them all and tried to carve them in that figurehead of mine.
And when my hands are feeble, and my outward eyes grow dim
I will see again those clippers reeling o’er the ocean’s rim
Great white fleet of sailing rovers, wind above and surf beneath
With the Marco Polo leading, and my carving in her teeth.
Cindy Kallet writes: I am a singer, guitar player, and songwriter who has lived in New England most of my life. I have been drawn to both songs of the sea as well as songs with lyrics that create vivid pictures, illuminate personal experiences, and evoke a strong sense of place. In my opinion, “The Old Figurehead Carver” does it all! Grey Larsen and I have performed this song with Grey playing concertina and me playing the “fiola” (a violin strung up as a viola).
Submitted by Jeff Gillett
“The Unquiet Grave” is no. 78 in F.J. Child’s The English and Scottish Popular Ballads. The set of words I sing is largely Version A in Child, as collected by Charlotte Latham “from a girl in Sussex” and published in 1868. (I see that I have changed them in several places without materially altering the meaning: whether by accident or design, I do not now remember!)
The tune I use was collected by Cecil Sharp from James Harding, Stow on the Wold, Gloucestershire, March 28th, 1907 and is the 32nd tune for the ballad in Bronson’s The Traditional Tunes of the Child Ballads.
In most versions, the dead lover is male and there is a suggestion of violent death as he “lies slain.” This version, however—the earliest recorded by Child—has a female lover who is simply dead and buried. Some of the best-known tunes for the ballad are quite robust and almost exuberant! This tune is, I think, quite plaintive.
I wanted to create a mysterious, spooky atmosphere. To do this, we added a higher harmony vocal for the times when the ghost speaks. At this point, I also stripped the accompaniment back for most of the ghost’s words to a repeated, chiming discord: a ninth.
Cold blows the wind over my true love
And a few small drops of rain.
I never had but one true love
And in cold grave she is lain.
I’ll do as much for my true love
As any young man may
I’ll sit and mourn all on her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.
The twelve months and a day being done,
The dead began to speak:
“O who sits weeping on my grave
And will not let me sleep?”
“’Tis I, ’tis I, your own true love
Who sit weeping on your grave.
I want one kiss from your clay-cold lips
And that is all I crave.”
“You crave one kiss from my clay-cold lips,
But my breath is earthy strong.
If you had one kiss from my clay-cold lips
Your time would not be long.
“’Tis down in yonder garden green, love,
Where you and I did walk:
The fairest flower that e’er was seen
Is withered to a stalk.
“The stalk is withered and dry, my love
So shall our hearts decay
Then make yourself content, my love
Till God calls you away.”
Jeff Gillett writes: My interest in folk music dates back to my childhood, when my parents introduced me to the music of Pete Seeger and Joan Baez. I later discovered Martin Carthy and began to explore folk music from the UK. I have a great deal of sympathy for those who regard folksong as an essentially unaccompanied form, and have devoted my own efforts as singer and accompanist to finding an approach that supports the song without swamping it.
I perform solo and with Elaine Gillett as Discovery. I also accompany fiddle player Becky Dellow, with whom I have worked intermittently for nearly forty years. My other longstanding musical relationship was with singer Ron Taylor, with whom I worked for many years and recorded four albums. I have appeared on albums by Jim Causley, Martin and Shan Graebe, Craig Morgan Robson and Marianne McAleer, and was also in a duo with Sarah Morgan.
I play guitar, mandolin, mandola, English concertina, and Appalachian Mountain dulcimer.
Submitted by Pete Coe
Mummers’ plays are performed at Christmas (mainly in Southern England), All Souls (Cheshire), and Easter (Lancashire and Yorkshire).
The story is always the same. A hero (usually St. George) is challenged and fights another champion (Prince of Paradise). One of them is killed, usually the challenger. A doctor is called for, who administers a miracle cure to bring the dead back to life. The play ends with various characters, including Beelzebub who collects from the crowd, often with menaces.
The plays date back to the 17th century and seem to be based on a variety of plays performed at country fairs. Theories that these plays represent death and resurrection, the passing of the seasons, and have pagan origins are now largely discredited.
The song “Bring The New Year In” was written by Pete Coe for the Long Company Mummers, based in Ripponden, West Yorkshire, who perform their play on 2nd, 3rd, 5th and 6th January only (age and health permitting).
Listen to Long Company singing “Bring the New Year In:”
Listen to Finest Kind’s version of “Bring the New Year In:”
In comes Old King Christmas, all dressed in green and gold
And may he never be forgot, his story left untold
For it’s once a year he brings good cheer, our spirits to engage
The like was never seen before on any common stage:
Chorus:
For we are not of the ragged sort, but some of royal trim
We’ll sweep away the old year and bring the new year in.
In then comes Saint George, that noble champion bold
Who fought the fiery dragon, made the tyrant’s blood run cold
And as through this world he wanders to fulfil his destiny
Well, they must die who dare to try and challenge liberty:
[Chorus]
In comes a valiant soldier, Prince Paradise by name
With sword and shield he will not yield, and hopes to win more fame
So it’s of these noble champions, both born of high renown
And they have made a solemn vow to pull the order down:
[Chorus]
In then comes a working man, they call him Common Jack
He puts food inside our bellies, and clothes upon our back
Hard labor is his destiny, from the moment of his birth
And the rich take all the money, for the poor will take the earth:
[Chorus]
And in then comes a doctor, as plainly doth appear
And by his art he’ll play his part, he travels far and near
With his lotions and his potions, to ease us of our pain
With bitter pills to cure all ills, see England rise again:
[Chorus]
In then comes Beelzebub, a name forever cursed
He’s before you, he’s behind you, he’s the last that would be first
Put your hands into your pockets, your money he do crave
To see this play you must pay, or join him in the grave:
[Chorus]
Pete Coehas had more than 50 years of music making on the English folk scene. His contributions include traditional song research, song writing in traditional style, the founding of several seminal bands (the founder member and visionary force behind The New Victory Band, Bandoggs and Red Shift), plus solo and duo performances, dance calling, recording, field research, local folk activism in Ryburn Three Step, and teaching at various levels. Together with his wife, Sue, he received the Gold Badge Award from the English Folk Dance and Song Society (EFDSS) in 2016 for their outstanding contributions to folk dance, music or song.
Submitted by April Grant
I can’t remember a time when I did not know “Jolly Roving Tar.” When I was a child, camping with my parents, they would sing “Jolly Roving Tar” with me to keep my spirits up while we walked to the restroom at night to brush our teeth. The combination of upbeat tune, pragmatic descriptions, and bleak ending makes this song powerful for me.
I had thought the song originated in England, as is the case with many songs I like. To my delight, it was written in the US, for a Broadway musical. The song was written by Edward Harrigan (lyrics), and Dave Braham (music) for Harrigan’s show Old Lavender (1877).
Sheet music for “Jolly Roving Tar” was published in 1885, and in the 20th century, the song was part of the repertoire of traditional singer Lena Bourne Fish. She recorded it for song collectors Frank and Anne Warner in the 1940s, when she lived in East Jaffrey, New Hampshire; it appears in their book Traditional American Folk Songs (1984) and would also become part of the repertoires of their sons, traditional singers Jeff Warner and Gerret Warner.
The liner notes to the recording Songs & Sounds of the Sea describe Mrs. Fish as having learned the song from “an old whalerman.” It wouldn’t be the first instance of a song originating outside seagoing life and being enthusiastically adopted by sailors.
My parents and I heard the song from a wealth of performers; my list of favorites includes the versions from Jeff Warner, Gerret Warner, Jerry Epstein, Brian Peters, and singing duo John Roberts and Tony Barrand, whose version is the one transcribed for this article. They recorded it in 1973 on their album Across The Western Ocean (as “Get Up Jack, John Sit Down”) and noted they had learned it initially from Peter Bellamy. They seem to have originated a way of drawing out the third line of every verse for maximum impact, which I’ve since heard from other performers.
Peter Bellamy learned the song in the 1960s from the Warners, and seems to have inspired a lot of English singers to learn it too. From a performing standpoint, it’s heartwarming to me to see this as an example of how influence can go in all directions. When you are an American folk singer, it’s easy to become obsessed with English and Scottish songs that survived in the US, and from there to fall into the misconception that influence only moves westwards, and that songs originating in the US are less important than those from the UK and Ireland.
In his album notes, Peter Bellamy mentions other versions, but as far as I’ve gathered, he’s talking about an older ballad about a woman running away to sea, and the song we’re discussing isn’t derived from that song. They’re unrelated except for the words “jolly roving tar.”
Maybe the older song’s title influenced Harrigan; certainly, Harrigan packs some solid nautical slang into the lyrics. As a child I’d assumed eight bells meant eight p.m., but the code for signaling time aboard ships meant that an officer rang the bell eight times at the end of any four-hour watch (so, no matter what time the clock says, it’s time for Jack to get out).
The original sheet music lyrics and Mrs. Fish’s version describe Jack as eating “souse,” but some performers, including John Roberts and Tony Barrand, sing “scouse” instead. As a fan of food history, I’m happy to say that both those options make sense. Souse is a meat dish cooked with liquid ingredients and seasonings to make the meat go further (it’s still a part of many cooking traditions, often including lime juice, as per this Bahamian recipe). Scouse is meat stew, popular in the seafaring city of Liverpool (UK) to the point where “Scouser” is a slang term for a person from Liverpool. (“Scouse” or “lobscouse” may get its name from a Latvian phrase literally meaning “good bowl.”)
Well, ships may come and ships may go, just as long as the seas do run,
And a sailor lad, likewise his dad, he loves his pork and rum.
Now a lass ashore he do adore, one that is plump and round,
But when your money’s all gone it’s the same old song, get up, Jack, John, sit down.
Chorus:
Come along, come along, me jolly brave boys, there’s plenty more grog in the jar,
We’ll plow the briny ocean with the jolly roving tar.
When Jack’s ashore, he’ll make his way to some old boarding house,
He’s welcomed in with rum and gin, likewise with pork and scouse,
And he’ll spend and he’ll spend and he’ll never offend, until he lies drunk on the ground…
Chorus
Jack then will slip aboard some ship bound for India or Japan;
For in Asia there, the ladies fair all love a sailor man.
And he’ll go ashore and he won’t scorn to buy some maid a gown…
Chorus
Jack—Jack is old and weather-beat, too old to sail about,
They’ll let him stop in some grog shop till eight bells do ring out.
Then he’ll raise his hands high and loud he’ll cry, “Great God, I’m homeward bound…”
April Grantwrites poems, songs, and short stories, and sings traditional and original songs. Her work has been referred to as “riveting” and “playful yet sinister.” She has sung and told stories in person at venues across New England, including the Connecticut Sea Music Festival (2022), the Blue Hill Maritime Festival (2024), the New England Folk Festival (multiple years), and the Portsmouth Maritime Folk Festival (2004 and 2024), and via the internet to international audiences during the pandemic. Her interests include traditional and trad-adjacent songs, history, and local legends.
Submitted by Peter and Barbara Snape
In 1975, Barbara was fortunate enough to meet a traditional singer named Emma Vickers. Emma was in her eighties and was living, as she had done all of her life, in the village of Burscough, situated on the Leeds to Liverpool canal in Lancashire, England. Emma was a warm and generous character, known locally as a “live wire of an old age pensioner,” and it was only later that the importance of the occasion was fully appreciated and realized.
One of the songs that Emma sang was a beautiful version of the song “Died for Love,” known all over the British Isles and America in many varied forms. Emma’s version was called “There Is a Tavern.” It was sung to the tune “McCafferty,” very similar to the “Lord Franklin” tune, widely used in traditional songs. There are lots of floating verses for this song, although the verse that starts “My heart is weary with all this grief” is not so widely known.
In the 1960s, Emma was visited by the folk song collector Fred Hamer, who later included some of her songs, including this one, in his Garners Gay song book.
In Burscough Wharf, once a busy canal trading center, there is a Blue Plaque installed on the canal side in honor of Emma Vickers, which recognizes her as a “community hero.”
Listen to Peter and Barbara singing “There Is a Tavern:”
There is a tavern in yonder town,
Where my false love goes and sits him down,
He pulls a strange girl upon his knee,
Oh don’t you think that’s a grief to me.
A grief, a grief and I’ll tell you why,
Because she has got more gold than I,
But gold will waste and her beauty will blast,
And then, poor girl, she’ll come like me at last.
He courted me when my apron tied low,
He followed me through all the frost and snow,
But now it ties underneath my chin,
He passes me by and says nothing.
There is a blackbird in yonder tree,
Some say it’s blind and it cannot see,
I wish it had been so by me,
Before I kept my love’s company.
Now all young girls be advised by me,
Never let a stranger take you on his knee,
He’ll court and kiss you, swear to be true,
And the very next moment he’ll bid you adieu.
My heart is weary with all this grief,
For my false love was worse than a thief,
A thief will rob you then run away,
But a false young man he’ll lead you astray.
Dig me a grave, long wide and deep,
Put marble stones at my head and feet,
Plant a red rose bush on the middle of me,
For I loved that lad, but he never loved me.
Peter and Barbara Snapelive in the northwest of England and perform traditional song from that area. They research songs with varied and interesting themes and perform them with commitment, passion and enjoyment. Closely aligned to their research and singing interests, Cotton Town Chronicles is a presentation of songs about working life during the age when cotton and coal where king in Lancashire; A Song Seeker Found tells the story of Fred Hamer and his Garners Gay English Folk Song collection; Three Yards a Penny, Song, Song, Songs explores the Ballad/Broadsheet printer John Harkness of Preston, the songs he printed, and the street singers who sang them; and Anne Geddes Gilchrist, OBE, FSA, Folk Song Collector and Scholar is an overview of a remarkable Lancastrian woman who became a pivotal figure both within the folk-song collecting community of the early 20th century and in the publication of the Journal of the Folk Song Society.
Submitted by Judy Cook
“Waterbound” is a play-party song from Grayson County, Virginia. The earliest known recording was 1929 (unissued recording, Grayson County Railsplitters). It was recorded in 1938 by the Bogtrotters band of neighboring Galax, VA. The Grayson Co. Railsplitters’ recording is essentially identical to the canonical version sung in the folk revival, mostly learned from the Wade Ward/Bogtrotters recording. The recording I’ve chosen is of The New Golden Ring, led by Joe Hickerson, on the 1971 Folk-Legacy recording Five Days Singing – Volume 1.
I just got back from western North Carolina, where I enjoyed doing the first program in the newly renovated performance space in the 1904 Courtroom for the Ashe County Historical Society—a multi-media hour titled “Songs from These Mountains.” My closing song was “Waterbound.” My 45-year-old niece attended and remembered it well. I remember her standing on a kitchen chair and singing it beautifully when she was two years old.
Listen to The New Golden Ring singing “Waterbound:”
Waterbound and I can’t get home
Waterbound and I can’t get home
Waterbound and I can’t get home
Down in North Carolina
Chickens crowin’ in the old plowed field
Chickens crowin’ in the old plowed field
Chickens crowin’ in the old plowed field
Down in North Carolina
Me and Tom and Dave goin’ home
Me and Tom and Dave goin’ home
Me and Tom and Dave goin’ home
Before the water rises
The old man’s mad and I don’t care
The old man’s mad and I don’t care
The old man’s mad and I don’t care
I’m going to get his daughter
If he don’t give her up, we’re gonna run away
If he don’t give her up, we’re gonna run away
If he don’t give her up, we’re gonna run away
Down in North Carolina
I’m going home with the one I love
I’m going home with the one I love
I’m going home with the one I love
Down to North Carolina
Judy Cookis an author, entertainer, and folk singer. She has been living in Oberlin, Ohio, with her husband Dennis since 2013. Since 1998, she has been touring throughout both Britain and the US. She is known for her repertoire and storytelling ability in song. Judy has one book and several CDs. Lyrics and recordings of her songs are on her website. You may reach her at judy@judycook.net.
Submitted by Julie Henigan
For August’s Song of the Month, I’ve chosen Clarence Ashley’s version of “The Cuckoo,” or, as he called it, “The Coo Coo Bird.” This song has strayed a long way from its British broadside roots in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, in which the song was a collection of so-called “floating verses” about unprosperous love.
In this country, one of the versions closest to the British originals is Jean Ritchie’s “The Cuckoo,” which she learned from her father’s side of the family. Other well-known American versions are those performed by Hobart Smith and his sister Texas Gladden.
Like Hobart Smith, Ashley included a banjo approximation of the cuckoo’s call in his accompaniment. His verses have more in common with “Jack of Diamonds” than with Jean Ritchie’s or the broadside versions, but it is identifiable by the inclusion of the verse about the cuckoo which never “hollers cuckoo till the fourth day of July”—the date being a clear expression of American patriotism, since in England the cuckoo doesn’t sing until “the summer draws near.” I myself heard a cuckoo in Cornwall in early May.
I learned this song by osmosis, so that when on a recent song Zoom my friend Mimi Wright sang Texas Gladden’s version, I grabbed my banjo and played an approximation of Clarence Ashley’s rendition. Here’s a link to one of the British broadsides.
Gonna build me a log cabin
On a mountain so high,
So I can see Willie
As he goes on by.
Hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm-hmm, etc.
Oh, the coo-coo is a pretty bird,
She warbles as she flies.
She never hollers coo-coo
Till the fourth day of July.
I’ve played cards in England,
I’ve played cards in Spain;
I’ll bet you ten dollars
I beat you next game.
Jack-a-Diamonds, Jack-a-Diamonds,
I’ve known you from old;
Now, you’ve robbed my poor pocket
Of my silver and my gold.
Hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm-hmm, etc.
I’ve played cards in England,
I’ve played cards in Spain;
I’ll bet you ten dollars
I beat you next game.
Oh, the coo-coo is a pretty bird
She warbles as she flies
She never hollers coo-coo
Till the fourth day of July.
Julie Henigan writes: I grew up in the Missouri Ozarks, and I’ve been playing and singing traditional American, English, and Irish songs since I was about ten years old. I play guitar, 5-string banjo, lap dulcimer, and fiddle, which I use for instrumentals and song accompaniments. I have a CD (American Stranger) and two books on DADGAD guitar with Mel Bay to my credit. I am also a song scholar; for further details, see my website.
Submitted by Harry Tuft
I learned this song from a Riverside album by Bob Gibson, “I Come for to Sing.” According to some internet research, Joan Baez must have learned it that way, as well, mostly. She may have conflated both his and the older one, below. Again, from the internet, I have learned that it is likely a version of “Little Musgrave and Lady Barnet,” purported to go back as far as the fifteenth century.
Perhaps the first version, from which others have learned the song, was by Ewan MacColl and Peggy Seeger on a Folkways recording in 1961. Fairport Convention did it and Doc Watson, too. I have only heard the Gibson version, and I believe I have stayed close to his rendition.
Hi ho, hi ho holiday, the best day of the year.
Little Matty Groves to church did go, some holy words to hear,
Some holy words to hear.
He spied three ladies dressed in black, as they came into view.
Lord Arlyn’s wife among them walked, a flower among the few,
A flower among the few.
She trip-ed up to Matty Groves, her eyes so low cast down,
Oh pray, oh pray, come with me stay, as you pass through the town,
As you pass through the town.
I cannot go, and I dare not go. I fear ‘twould cost my life.
For I can tell by the little ring you wear that you are Lord Arlyn’s wife,
You’re the great Lord Arlyn’s wife.
This may be false, it may be true, I can’t deny it all.
But Arlyn’s gone to consecrate King Henry at Whitehall,
King Henry at Whitehall.
Oh pray, oh pray, come with me stay, I’ll hide you out of sight.
And I’ll serve you there beyond compare, and sleep with you the night,
And sleep with you the night.
Her little page did listen well to all that they did say.
And ere that they were out of sight, He quickly sped away,
He quickly sped away.
He did run the Kings Highway, he swam across the tide.
And he ne’er did stop until he came to the great Lord Arlyn’s side,
To the great Lord Arlyn’s side.
What news, what news, me bowly boy, what news bring you to me?
My castle burned, my tenants wronged, or my lady with baby,
My lady with baby.
No harm has come your house and land, the little page did say,
But Matty Groves is bedded up, with your fair lady gay,
With your fair Lady gay.
Lord Arlyn called his men and he bade them with him go.
And he bade them ne’er a word to speak, and ne’er a horn to blow,
And ne’er a horn to blow.
Among Lord Arlyn’s merry men ’twas one who wished no ill,
And ere the castle was in sight, blew his horn so loud so shrill,
Blew a blast so loud so shrill.
What’s this, what’s this, cried Matty Groves, what’s this that I do hear?
It must be Lord Arlyn’s merry men, the ones that I do fear,
The ones that I do fear.
Lie down lie down, cried Arlyn’s wife, come keep my back from cold.
It’s only my uncle’s shepherd men, a-calling their sheep to fold,
A-calling their sheep to fold.
Little Matty Groves he did lie down, and he took a nap asleep.
And when he woke, Lord Arlyn was a-standing at his feet,
A-standin’ at his bed feet.
Well, it’s how do you like your pillow said he, and it’s how do you like your sheets
And how do you like that fair lady gay, what lies in your arms asleep?
What lies in your arms asleep.
Very well do I like my pillow said he, and it’s better do I like my sheets,
But it’s best, do I like, that fair lady gay, what lies, but ain’t asleep,
Who lies but ain’t asleep.
Rise up, rise up, little Matty Groves, defend you if you can.
In England, it shall never be said, I slewed a sleeping man,
I slewed a sleeping man.
I cannot rise and I dare not rise, I fear ‘twould cost my life.
For you have got two bitter swords and I ain’t got a knife,
I ain’t got a knife.
Oh yes, I have two bitter swords, they cost me deep in the purse,
But you shall have the better one and I shall have the worst,
I shall have the worse.
Firstest stroke little Matty struck, he hurt Lord Arlyn sore.
And the nextest stroke Lord Arlyn struck, little Matty struck no more,
Little Matty struck no more.
Rise up, rise up, my gay young wife. Draw on your wedding clothes.
And tell me do you like me best, or like you Matty Groves
Or the now dead Matty Groves.
She lifted Matty’s dying head, and kissed from cheek to chin.
It’s Matty Groves I’d rather have, than Arlyn and all his kin,
Than Arlyn, and all his kin.
He took his lady by the hand, and he dragged her through the hall.
And with his sword, he cut off her head, and he stove it again’ the wall
He stove it again’ the wall.
Oh, woe is me, oh woe is me, why stayed you not my hand?
For I have killed the fairest folk in all of England,
In all of England.
Harry Tuft says: I grew up in Philadelphia in a family that enjoyed music. I owe my first interest in folk music to the recordings of Pete Seeger and Big Bill Broonzy, and also to Roger Abrahams and Bob Coltman, early influencers. I credit the Gilded Cage coffee house also as a great incubator in the late fifties in Philadelphia. I started a folk music store in Denver in 1962, the Denver Folklore Center, which I ran until I sold it to friends in 2016. This has allowed me to concentrate on making music, a primary goal when I came to Colorado in 1960. (It’s only taken me sixty years to pursue my real love, making music for folks). I have also been a member of the group Grubstake, which has had a run for over forty years. It was dormant for a few years, but has once again surfaced for occasional performances.
Thanks to the Massachusetts Cultural Council for their generous support.