# The Folk-Lore Journal/Volume 7/The London Ballads

THE LONDON BALLADS.
HEY come from that prosperous but out-of-the-way county of Virginia, in the corner between the Potomac and the Blue Ridge. Plain people of the conservative overseer and small-tenant class have transmitted them from mother to daughter, through the years and lives that have passed since the first settlement, as in England before it. Of course they do not think of writing them down, and know nothing of the books in which the relics of balladry are treasured.
One evening as we approached, in the dusk, our home near Washington, a ballad, then heard for the first time, came chanted to us out of the open windows. The new nurse girl, white, and from up the river, was singing the smaller children to sleep. When the song of many words ended, another was taken up, and after it another. Plainly the services of the collector were called for, and most members of the family enlisted, as opportunity offered. Unfortunately the pace of the music kept ahead of the reporters; and when she undertook to recite the lines deliberately, something was sure to be omitted or confused. Memory depended in part on the swing and excitement of her habitual mode of utterance. But a fair approach to completeness, in some cases, was made by repetition and comparison; and the results in full were read to the young woman’s mother, who made some notable additions, and declared the ballads to be substantially correct. She could not explain anything which is not obvious, nor, indeed, tell us anything of them but what I have said in the beginning.
“Wilson” is, perhaps, the most important of the series: a near relative of “Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight,” whatever names may seem to say. That cycle, so carefully studied and preserved by Professor Childs, cannot afford to leave this stray member wandering ​unrecorded over Virginia foot hills. It lives in the air and the ear alone, as indeed it always has from that far time when some crude singer first gave it to our ancestry. With all its imperfections, we ought to be glad to make its acquaintance in type, for we shall never greet an older friend among living things.
WILSON.
Wilson, sitting in his room one day, With his true love on his knee, Just as happy as happy could be, be, be, Just as happy as happy could be.
"Do you want for fee?" said she, "Or do you want for gold? Or do you want a handsome ladye, More handsomer than me?"
"I do want for fee," said he, "And I do want for gold; But I don't want a handsomer ladye, More handsomer than thee."
"Go get some of your father's fee, And some of your father's gold, And two of the finest horses he has, And married we will be, be, be, And married we will be."
She mounted on the milk-white steed, And he the iron grey; And when they got to the broad waterside, It was six hours and a-half till day.
"Get down, get down, my pretty fair maid, Get down, get down!" said he; "For its nine of the king's daughters I've drowned here, And the tenth one you shall be, be, be, And the tenth one you shall be."
"Take off, take off that costly silk, For it is a costly thing, It cost your father too much bright gold To drown your fair body in, in, in, To drown your fair body in."
"In stooping down to cut the cords round, Sing, 'Turn your back on me;'" And with all the strength this lady had She pushed him right into the sea, sea, sea, She pushed him right into the sea.
"Help me out, my pretty fair miss, O help me out," said he; "And we'll go down to the Catholic church, And married we will be, be, be, And married we will be."
"Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man, Lie there, lie there!" said she, "For its nine of the king's daughters you've drowned here, But the tenth one's drowned thee, thee, thee, But the tenth one's drowned thee."
She mounted on the milk-white steed, And led the iron grey; And when she got to her own father's house, It was three hours and a-half till day, day, day, It was three hours and a-half till day.
While she was walking in the room, Which caused the parrot to wake, Said he, "What's the matter, my pretty fair miss, That you're up so long before day, day, day, That you're up so long before day?"
"Hush up! hush up! my pretty little parrot, Don't tell no tales on me; Your cage shall be lined with sweet may gold. And the doors of ivorie."
While they were talking all of this, Which caused the old man to wake, Said, "What's the matter, my pretty little parrot, That you chatter so long before day, day, day, That you chatter so long before day?"
"The cat she sprung against my cage, And surely frightened me, And I called for the pretty fair miss To drive the cat away, way, way, To drive the cat away."
POOR WILLIAM TAYLOR.
Poor William Taylor is a youthful lovyer, Full of pride and full of fear; He expected to get married To a lady blithe and gay.
Her lily-white hands, her lovelie fingers, Were all begobbed with pitch and tar; And then there came a mighty scrimmage, And she were one among the rest.
The silver buttons flew off her waistcoat, And there appeared her lily-white breast. Up bespeak this noble captain, "Say, fair lady, what brought you here?"
"A seeking of my own true lovyer, That was pressed in the other year." "If his name be William Taylor, That was pressed in the other year,
"He's married to another lady, Living in the Iragreens. If you want your William Taylor, Come rise you up full early, by the break of day."
She rise full early, by the break of day, There she spied her William Taylor, With his lady by the hand; She called for a brace of pistols, A brace of pistols at her command.
There she shot poor William Taylor, With his lady by her hand. Come, all ye young men, take warning, How to slight poor ladies kind.
Here's wringing of hands. And bitter crying, All on the salt-water sea. Must I live on bread and water Until I see my true love again?
The next has no title but its first line.
COME ALONG, COME ALONG, MY PRETTY LITTLE MISS.
"Come along, come along, my pretty little miss. Come along, come along," said he; "And seat yourself by me."
"Neither will I come, and neither sit down, For I have not a moment's time; For I heard that you had a new sweetheart, And your heart is no more mine."
"It never was, and it never shall be, And it never was any such a thing; For yonder she stands, in her own father's garden, The garden of the vine, Mourning for her own true love, Just like I've mourned for mine."
I laid my head in a little closet door, To hear what my true love had to say, So that I might know a little of his mind Before he went away.
I laid my head on the side of his bed, My arms across his breast; I made him believe, for the fall of the year, The sun rose in the west.
"I'm going away, I'm coming back again, If it is ten thousand miles; It's who will shoe your pretty little feet, And who will glove your hand, And who will kiss your red, rosy lips, While I'm in a foreign land?"
"My father will shoe my pretty little feet, My mother glove my hand, My babe will kiss my red, rosy lips, While you're in a foreign land."
IN JERSEY TOWN.
In Jersey town, where I do dwell, A butcher boy I love so well, He's courted me my heart away, And now with me he will not stay.
There is a name in this same town, Where my true love goes and sets himself down; He'll take a strange girl on his knee, And tell to her what he won't to me.
O grief, O grief, I'll tell you why, Because she's got more gold than I: Her gold will melt, her soul will fly, In need of time she'll be poor as I.
She went upstairs to make her bed, And not one word to her mother said, Her mother, she came up the stair, Cries, "What's the matter, my daughter, dear?"
"Mother, mother, you do not know The grief and wound my heart is in. Go, bring a chair, and set me down, A pen and ink to write it down." On every line she dropped a tear, In calling home her Willie, dear.
When her father he came home, Says, "Where's my dearest daughter gone?" Up the stairs he broke the door, And there he found her on a rope. He took his knife, and he cut her down, And in her bosom these lines were found.
Go dig her grave both deep and wide, A marble stone at both head and foot, A turtle dove all on her breast, To show she hung herself for love.
FALSE GIRL.
Fare you well, false girl, I must leave you in sorrow and in pain: My heart aches and cannot grieve you When you bear a stranger's name.
I am forsaken for another, All on with golden store. Fare you well, mother and father, I am despised because I am poor.
We have lived and loved in childhood, And vowed we would never part; Spent many hours in the wild woods, Where she nearly broke my heart.
Then came a wealthy stranger, All from a foreign shore; And soon he gained her from me, Because I am poor.
When wed, the bells were ringing, And the carriages they passed by The lads; and last she smiled, With a tear beneath her eye.
Fare you well, false girl of the ocean, We will part us for evermore; And loving with devotion, And scorned because I am poor.
Never more will I behold her, Nor hear her sweet voice again; I am going to 'list for a soldier, To die on the battle plain.
My sorrow shall never distress her, Nor happiness in store; But while I live I will bless her, I am scorned because I am poor.
THE BROWN GIRL.
"O mother, O mother, come read this to me, And regulate all as one, Whether I shall wed fair Ellinter or no, Or fetch you the brown girl home."
"Fair Ellinter she has houses and wealth, The brown girl she has none; But before I am charged with that blessing, Go fetch me the brown girl home."
He dressed himself in skylight green, His groomsmen all in red; And every town as he rode through, They took him to be some king.
He rode and he rode until he came to fair Ellinter's door. He knocked so loud at the ring, There was none so ready as fair Ellinter herself To rise and let him in.
"O what is the news, Lord Thomas," she said; "O what is the news to thee?" "I've come to invite you to my wedding, And that is bad news to thee."
"God forbid, Lord Thomas!" she said, "That any such thing should be; For I should have been the bride myself, And you should the bridegroom be."
"O mother, O mother, come read this to me, And regulate all as one, Whether I shall go to Lord Thomas' wed, Or stay with you at home."
"Here you have one thousand friends, Where there you would but one; So I will invite you, with my blessing, To stay with me at home."
But she dressed herself in skylight red, Her waiting-maids all in green, And every town as she rode through They took her to be some queen.
She rode and she rode till she came to Lord Thomas's door; She knocked so loud at the ring, There was none so ready as Lord Thomas himself To rise and let her in.
He took her by her lily-white hand, He led her across the hall, Sing, "Here are five and twenty gay maids, She is the flower of you all."
He took her by her lily-white hand, He led her across the hall, He sat her down in a big arm chair, And kissed her before them all.
The wedding was gotten, The table was set; The first to sit down Was Lord Thomas himself, His bride, fair Ellinter, by his side.
"Is this your bride, Lord Thomas?" she said; "If this is your bride, Lord Thomas, She looks most wonderfully dark, When you could have gotten a fairer As ever the sun shone on."
"O don't you despise her, Lord Thomas," said she; "O don't you despise her to me." "Yes, I like the end of your little finger Better than her whole body."
The brown girl, having a little penknife, And being both keen and sharp. Right between the long and short ribs. She pierced poor Ellinter's heart.
"O what is the matter, fair Ellinter?" said he, "That you look so very dark, When your cheeks used to have been so red and rosy As ever the sun shined on."
"Are you blind, or don't you see. My heart blood come trickling down to my knee?"
W. H. Babcock.