Note: I found this at http://www.pbm.com/~lindahl/rialto/songs2-msg.text on 2000-12-26. I copied it here lest it disappear from the web ---Alex Lord Alexander Listkeeper xela@mit.edu Mark S. Harris songs2-msg songs2-msg - 12/6/95 ************************************************************************ NOTICE - This file is a collection of various messages having a common theme that I have collected from my reading of the various computer networks. Some messages date back to 1989, some may be as recent as yesterday. I have done a limited amount of editing. Messages having to do with seperate topics were sometimes split into different files and sometimes extraneous information was removed. For instance, most of the message IDs were removed to save space and remove clutter. The comments made in these messages are not necessarily my viewpoints. I make no claims as to the accuracy of the information given by the individual authors. Please respect the time and efforts of those who have written these messages. The copyright status of these messages is unclear at this time. If information is published from these messages, please give credit to the orignator(s). Thank you, Mark S. Harris AKA: Stefan li Rous markh@risc.sps.mot.com ************************************************************************ From: leeu@nobeltech.se (Leif Euren) Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Subject: Re: REQUEST: Drinking songs and loud obnoxious things Date: 20 Nov 92 08:49:57 GMT Organization: NobelTech AB "Wailer at the Gates of Dawn" writes: > Could someone provide some pointers to some period drinking songs? >Serious as well as loud - baudy - obnoxious are welcome. The song that gets >on everybodies nerves is fine but I'd like some more variety. I'll provide you with the Nordmark favourite, In Taberna. It is best sung at late night revels, preferrably performed unrehearsed, and at least one person should sing off-key. A lot of wine helps to get in the right mood! I would have mailed this song if I had an english translation. The original is in latin, and I have translations into german and swedish, but not into english. So now I wonder, are there anyone somebody in netland who know so much latin that he or she could provide us with an english version? Or at least a word-for-word translation, so that others can provide rhythm and rhyme? I'll mail you the german (or swedish :-) version if you think it'll help. Until we get a translation, I'll give an short description of the text: it's about sitting in a tavern, drinking; how nice it is, and why it should be done. A number of toasts are proposed, as well as a long list of reasons to drink. 'hope it'll add to your revels! your humble servant Peder Klingrode Herr Peder Klingrode | Leif Euren Stockholm, Sweden Holmgard, Nordmark, Drachenwald, East | leeu@nobeltech.se ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IN TABERNA (Carmina Burana #196, s Germany, c. 1230) In taberna quando sumus, non curamus, quid sit humus, sed ad ludum properamus, cui semper insudamus. Quid agatur in taberna, ubi summus est pincerna, hoc est opus ut quaeratur; sic quid loquar, audiatur. Quidam ludunt, quidam bibunt, quidam indiscrete vivunt; sed in ludo qui morantur, ex his quidam denudantur, quidam ibi vestiuntur, quidam saccis induuntur: ibi nullus timet mortem, sed pro Bacchus mittunt sortem. Primo pro nummata vini; ex hac bibunt libertini: semel bibunt pro captivis, post haec bibunt ter pro vivis, quater pro Christianis cunctis, quinquies pro fidelibus defunctis, sexies pro sororibus vanis, septies pro militibus silvanis, octies pro fratribus perversis, novies pro monachis dispersis, decies pro navigantibus, undecies pro discordantibus, duodecies pro paenitentibus, tredecies pro iter agentibus, tam pro papa quam pro rege. Bibit hera, bibit herus, bibit miles, bibit clerus, bibit ille, bibit illa, bibit servus cum ancilla, bibit velox, bibit piger, bibit albus, bibit niger, bibit constans, bibit vagus, bibit rudis, bibit magus. Bibit pauper et aegrotus, bibit exul et ignotus, bibit puer, bibit canus, bibit praesul et decanus, bibit soror, bibit frater, bibit anus, bibit mater, bibit iste, bibit ille, bibit centum, bibit mille. Parum sescentae nummatae durant, cum immoderate bibunt omnes sine meta, quamvis bibant mente laeta. Sic nos rodunt omnes gentes, et sic erimus egentes. Qui nos rodunt, confundantur "et cum iustis non scribantur". Tune: d d f d e f g e g g f e d f d d d d f d e f g e g g f e d f d d a g f e g g a a a g f e g g a a d d f d e f g e g g f e d f d d Primary source: "Codex Buranus", Bayrische Staatsbibl. clm 4600 - 4660a ("Beuren-manuskripten") Secondary source: Beuren-manuskripten, published by Johann Andreas Schmeller, Stuttgart (1847) Tertiary source: Liber Cantorum Nordmarkensium, compiled by brother Botvid (pseud. Bo Ohlson), Stockholm (1991) Recommended recording: "Carmina Burana" Clementic Consort, harmonia mundi HMA 43385 From: cozzlab@garnet.berkeley.edu () Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Subject: Re: REQUEST: Drinking songs and loud obnoxious things Date: 25 Nov 1992 18:45:23 GMT Organization: University of California, Berkeley In article <722700066.AA00000@blkcat.UUCP> Dave.Aronson@p11.f120.n109.z1.fidone t.org (Dave Aronson) writes: >leeu@nobeltech.se (Leif Euren) writes: > > LE> So now I wonder, are there anyone somebody in > LE> netland who know so much latin that he or she could provide us with an > LE> english version? > >I know so LITTLE Latin that I can translate it. ("Oh no! Not again!") [interesting concoction deleted] Well.... after that, I have fewer fears about posting my translation, even though I suspect it may have a few bugs in it. IN TABERNA (Carmina Burana #196, s Germany, c. 1230) In taberna quando sumus, When we are in the tavern, non curamus, quid sit humus, We don't care if we are mortal, sed ad ludum properamus, But we hasten to play, cui semper insudamus. Which is what we always crave. Quid agatur in taberna, What is to be done in the tavern, ubi summus est pincerna, Where the jug rules, hoc est opus ut quaeratur; This is what you have to seek, sic quid loquar, audiatur. But listen to what I say. Quidam ludunt, quidam bibunt, Some play, some drink, quidam indiscrete vivunt; Some live indiscreetly, sed in ludo qui morantur, But those who die in the middle of a game ex his quidam denudantur, some strip them bare. quidam ibi vestiuntur, Some dress in the spoils, quidam saccis induuntur: Some wear sackcloth: ibi nullus timet mortem, There no one fears death, sed pro Bacchus mittunt sortem. But they throw in their lot with Bacchus. Primo pro nummata vini; First for (wine in sealed bottles?) ex hac bibunt libertini: The free spirits drink from them: semel bibunt pro captivis, Second they drink for poor captives; post haec bibunt ter pro vivis, After that they drink for the living, quater pro Christianis cunctis, Fourth, for all Christians, quinquies pro fidelibus defunctis, Fifth, for the faithful departed, sexies pro sororibus vanis, sixth, for wayward sisters, septies pro militibus silvanis, seventh, for soldiers on forest duty, octies pro fratribus perversis, eighth, for fallen-away brethren, novies pro monachis dispersis, ninth, for monks gone astray, decies pro navigantibus, tenth, for sailors, undecies pro discordantibus, eleventh, for heretics, duodecies pro paenitentibus, twelfth, for penitents, tredecies pro iter agentibus, thirteenth, for travelers, tam pro papa quam pro rege, As many times for the Pope as for the King, bibunt omnes sine lege. And then each drinks as he likes. [Note that they are drinking in the tavern for the same list they pray for in the church.] Bibit hera, bibit herus, The nobleman drinks, the noblewoman drinks, bibit miles, bibit clerus, The soldier drinks, the clerk drinks, bibit ille, bibit illa, He drinks, she drinks, bibit servus cum ancilla, The manservant drinks, the maidservant drinks, bibit velox, bibit piger, The swift man drinks, the slow man drinks, bibit albus, bibit niger, The fair man drinks, the dark man drinks, bibit constans, bibit vagus, The stay-at-home drinks, the wanderer drinks, bibit rudis, bibit magus. The ignorant man drinks, the wise man drinks. Bibit pauper et aegrotus, The poor miserable beggar drinks, bibit exul et ignotus, The unknown exile drinks, bibit puer, bibit canus, The treble drinks, the tenor drinks, bibit praesul et decanus, The prior and the deacon drink. bibit soror, bibit frater, The sister drinks, the brother drinks, bibit anus, bibit mater, The granddad drinks, the mother drinks, bibit iste, bibit ille, This one drinks, that one drinks, bibit centum, bibit mille. A hundred drink, a thousand drink. Parum sescentae nummatae Seven hundred jugs together durant, cum immoderate Will last out a huge crowd bibunt omnes sine meta, Drinking without restraint. quamvis bibant mente laeta. Let everyone drink with a glad mind. Sic nos rodunt omnes gentes, Thus everyone will despise us et sic erimus egentes. And thus we'll be cast out: Qui nos rodunt, confundantur Those who despise us, damn them, "et cum iustis non scribantur". "And may they not be written among the just." ("Nummus" is a coin; I'm assuming [guessing] that a "nummata" is a bottle sealed with a lump of wax or clay and marked with somebody's or some office's seal as a guarantee of quality [and to keep it from being dipped into en route].) Dorothea of Caer-Myrddin Dorothy J. Heydt Mists/Mists/West Albany CA Argent, a cross forme'e sable From: leeu@nobeltech.se (Leif Euren) Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Subject: Re: REQUEST: Drinking songs and loud obnoxious things Date: 27 Nov 92 10:03:13 GMT Organization: NobelTech AB To all on the Rialto, my geetings! I got so much positive response to my posting of "In Taberna", that I push my luck further and give to you another Nordmark favourite, "Ich was ein chint". This song is also from Carmina Burana, both text and tune. In the verses, the first and third line is in german, while the the second and fourth is in latin. It is thought that this was to make the song incomprehensible to all but the learned. Perhaps it was made by some students who wanted to brag about their knowledge in latin. The english "straight" translation I've made myself from a likewise "straight" translation into sedish in Liber Cantorum Nordmarkensium. Enjoy! your humble servant Peder Klingrode Herr Peder Klingrode | Leif Euren Stockholm, Sweden Holmgard, Nordmark, Drachenwald, East | leeu@nobeltech.se ======================================================================== ICH WAS EIN CHINT (anon., Carmina Burana #185, Germany, c. 1230) Ich was ein chint so wolgetan (I was a child so wellbred virgo dum florebam (a maiden in my flowering do brist mich diu werlt al (all the world praised me omnibus placebam (all I pleased Ch.: Hoy et oe! (Oh! and Woe! |: Maledicantur tilie (Damned be all linden iuxta viam posite! :| (that stands near the road Ia wolde ih an die wisen gan (I wanted to go to the meadow flores adunare (to pick flowers do wolde mich ein ungetan (then would me an evil-doer ibi deflorare. (there deflorate. Er nam mich bi der wizen hant (He took me by my white hand sed non indecenter (not without decency er wist mich diu wisen lanch (he showed me along the meadow valde fraudulenter. (with great cunning. Er graif mir an daz wize gewant (He gripped me on the white chemise valde indecenter (very indecently er furte mich bi der hant (he brought me by my hand multum violenter. (very violently. Er sprach: "Vrowe, ge wir baz (He said: "Girl, we'll go down nemus est remotum!" (to the grove over there!" Dirre wech der habe haz! (Damed be the path thereto! Plaxi est hoc totum. (How I regret all this. "Iz stat ein linde wolgetan ("There stand a linden so grand non procul a via (not far from the road da hab ich meine herphe lan, (there have I my harp laid timpanum cum lyra." (my [timpani] and lyre." Do er zu der linden chom (When he to the linden came dixit: "Sedeamus!" (said he: "Let us sit!" Diu minne twanch sere den man. (Lust forced severely the man. "Ludum faciamus!" ("Let us play!" Er graif mir an den wizen lip (He gripped me around my waist non absque timore (not without fear er sprah: "Ich mache dich ein wip, (he said: "I will make you a woman, dulcis est cum ore!" (how sweet your mouth is!" Er warf mir uf daz hemdelin, (He throwed me on the linen corpore detecta. (revealed my body. Er rante mir in daz purgelin, (He stormed into my virginhood cuspide erecta. (with raised lance. Er namn den chocher und den bogen (He took the quiver and the bow bene venebatur (after a good hunt der selbe hete mich betrogen (The one who had betrayed me "Ludus compleatur!" (said "Now the game is over!" Tune: a-- g-- f-- e-- g-- g-- a------ a-- g-- f-- e-- g------ a------ a-- g-- f-- e-- g-- g-- a------ a-- g-- f-- e-- g------ a------ a-------------- g------ g------ a-------------- d-- d d c-- e-- g-- g-- f------ a-- g-- f-- g-- a-- g-- a------ d-- d d c-- e-- g-- g-- f------ a-- g-- f-- e-- d-- c-- d------ Primary source: "Codex Buranus", Bayrische Staatsbibl. clm 4660 - 4660a ("Beuren-manuskripten") Secondary source: Beuren-manuskripten, published by Johann Andreas Schmeller, Stuttgart (1847) Tertiary source: Liber Cantorum Nordmarkensium, compiled by brother Botvid (pseud. Bo Ohlson), Stockholm (1991) Recommended recording: "Carmina Burana, Vol. II" New London Consort, soprano solo by Catherine Bolt, L'Oiseau-Lyre 421 062-2. From: pavao@cae.wisc.edu Date: Tue, 17 Nov 92 02:40:18 CST To: banshee@cats.UCSC.EDU Subject: Re: REQUEST: Drinking songs and loud obnoxious things Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Organization: U of Wisconsin-Madison College of Engineering Cc: Greetings from Jararvellir! Being the Bard for my household, I would consider it a great favour if you were to forward the responses to your request for drinking songs to me. In addition, I will share one of mine... The ale, the cup, the table, the tavern and the town, The last one went down easier than the time around. Where the is the number of times you've sung the chorus. I'll send the tune as soon as we can puzzle out a way to communicate it. The verses are sung to the same tune, and can be made up on the spot, with the addition of the fact that the last bit of the verse is sung twice, like so: Rena Thorbjornsdottir, For friends, she'll never lack, You'll see more 'round the front of her, Than you will around the back, Than you will around the back! It's the ale, the cup, the table, The tavern and the town, The last one went down easier, Than the time around! Et cetera. My thanks... -> Shandler SCA: Shandler Greyfeathre MKA: Aaron Pavao NET: pavao@cae.wisc.edu From: butlej@rpi.edu Date: Wed, 18 Nov 92 17:12:47 EST To: banshee@cats.UCSC.EDU Subject: Songs... Haelo... Here are some songs for you to look over. I hope they help. Gwendolyn of Bleddfa BORED IN THE SCA! -various Marklanders -tune: "Born in the USA" BORED in the SCA! Oh, I'm a LORD in the SCA! I use "Prince Valiant" for historical sources! I'm a knight, but where are the horses?! Bright colors and panty hose! Polyester from my head to my toes! Oh, I am BORED in the SCA! Yes, I am BORED in the SCA! Over there's a Samurai, I think, Must because of the fishy stink! I'm a King in Fantasyland, Don't fight with steel, I use bare rattan! Oh, I am BORED in the SCA! Joined the HORDE in the SCA! Now I can rape and pillage and burn Goon the jerks that never learn! Looks like ( insert name of choice ) is here! Hide the chickens, and dogs and beer! I was BORED in the SCA! I was BORED in the SCA! Joined the HORDE in the SCA! Joined the HORDE in the SCA! * SCOTLAND'S DEPRAVED [Bertram's Original Version] TUNE for the verses is - "There Were Three Bonnie Lassies, Came from the Isle of Wight" (which I heard on a Steeleye Span record) There was a bonnie lassie, and she had brothers three; She did love a foreign lord, who came from Coventry. Her brothers did not like this and they told her to her face, "We're fearful, bonnie sister, the family you'll disgrace. For you're a highborn Scottish lass, of noble highland birth, And we don't think no foreign laird can give you what you're worth!" She said, "He is a valiant lord - he'll show you what he's got, You'll see the stuff he's made of - he'll out-Scottish any Scot!" "We'll set him tests of honor," the brothers they declared, "And if he canna do them, we'll surely know he's scared, In fact we clearly doubt that he'll escape from them alive, And so we'll set the contest - the trials will be five." The first contest was golfing, in which the lord did fine. He killed a dozen hedgehogs while shooting the back nine. He double-bogied every hole, his ball went wide and far, But when they counted hedgehogs, they found he'd broken par! The second one was piping, in which he held his own, He outdid all the brothers, for on and on he'd drone. He kept his pipes a'skirlin' 'til they all were out of breath, The reason - not his diaphragm - it's just that he's tone deaf! The next trial was sword dancing - with bare feet & bare sword, And in this painful trial, he proved a mighty lord. "Good brothers I don't understand - you said this would be hard! They made me wear my armor when I learned to galliard!" The fourth contest was drinking, the knight showed them his stuff. He chug-a-lugged from six more jugs when they had cried, "Enough!" He planned to take the excess home, he put it in a pail... "It makes a welcome change," he said, "from luke-warm English ale!" The fifth and final contest, this valiant knight was told, Was to eat a hag-gis [pause] while it was still COLD! The knight he ate a score of them, he said "Good friends come here. I'll have another score, but - this time with Worcestershire!" When the trials were over, her kin said "Sister dear, Though he has won the contest, you may not wed, we fear. For when we were out golfing, he proved his mind's unsound. The man, he must be crazy, he loaned me half a crown!" "Begone you silly spendthrift, to you I won't be wed. The way you throw your gold around, you must have lost your head!" The knight he quit the highlands and returned to Coventry, The lass she wed a highland man, kept Scottish lovers, three. Thus it goes in Scottish lands, the sexes both are bawds, Where half of them are bastards, and all of them tightwads! This tale is nearly over and I'm singin' on one lung, But to conclude the moral, at last it must be sung... CLOSING [to the tune of Scotland the Brave] O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h, (sound like a set of pipes starting up) Scotland it is the land, please For lusty lairds and lassies, Though England may be moral SCOTLAND'S DEPRAVED! Slay-O (sung to "Day-O") Words by K.A. von Zauberberg refrain: Slay-O, Slay-O, Having fun at the Pennsic War. Slay-O, Slay-O, Having fun at the Pennsic War. Put on armor, to the battle run. Having fun at the Pennsic War. Fight all day in the hot, hot sun. Having fun at the Pennsic War. Hey mister marshal man, come inspect my armor. Having fun at the Pennsic War. I've been standin' in the sun ev'ry minute gettin' warmer. Having fun at the Pennsic War. REFRAIN Five kill, six kill, seven kill, bunch! Having fun at the Pennsic War. And pretty soon we'll break for lunch! Having fun at the Pennsic War. When the battle is done I'm gonna go down to the swimmin' hole. Having fun at the Pennsic War. Where all the men who like to see the pretty women go. Having fun at the Pennsic War. REFRAIN Round the fire pass the wine skin. Having fun at the Pennsic War. That someone has his new mead in. Having fun at the Pennsic War. Smoke from the fire circles to the sky. Having fun at the Pennsic War. And ev'rybody's singin' by and by. Having fun at the Pennsic War. REFRAIN Time to leave has come I fear. No more fun at the Pennsic War. But we'll be back again next year. Having fun at the Pennsic War. REFRAIN sung twice. THE MONGOL sung to: The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkle I am just a mongol and my story's often told, How I swept down from the Gobi With a quiver full of arrows and a recurve bow Held in my hand And leaving fire and slaughter as I rode across the land. When I left my home in Mongolia I was no more than a boy In the midst of my sword brothers In the quiet of the Gobi desert riding hard Through the night Cause a man does what he's got to do if he's going to fight And put his scattered enemies to flight. And we ride, yes we ride on through the night And we ride, yes we'll ride on til we reach the morning light. Seeking only warrior's wages I come fighting for your loot But I'll take no prisoners And I'll carry off your women on my pony's back. I do proclaim that each one seems quite special Though I can't recall her name. Now I'm counting out my booty and I dream of going home Going home But the gobi's just a desert full of empty sand Pretty bland at home At home In the square they're playing polo, it's an interesting game And the ball bears the reminder Of every blow that swung down low and cuts it til we cry out In out, in our anger and our pain "Oh, this head's far too mushy, It's a double header game!" And we ride, yes we'll ride on through the night. And we ride, yes we'll ride on til we reach the morning light! In the square they're playing polo It's an interesting game And the ball bears the reminder Of every blow that's swung down low And cuts it til we cry out In our anger and our pain, "OH, THIS HEAD'S FAR TOO MUSHY- IT'S A DOUBLE-HEADER GAME!" And we ride, yes we ride on through the night And we ride, yes well ride on til we reach the morning light! by Ritter Baron Karl Aerdigwidder von Zauberberg Peggy Seeger & Ewan MacColl's _The_Singing_Island:_A_ _collection_of_English_and_Scots_Folksongs_ (London: Mills Music, Ltd.), 1960. Black Velvet Band D 1. In a neat little town they call Belfast, A7 Apprenticed to trade I was bound, D A7 D And many an hour's sweet happiness A7 D Have I spent in that neat little town. 2. A bad misfortune came over me, And caused me to stray from the land, Away from my friends and relations, Betrayed by the black velvet band. Optional Chorus: Her eyes they shone like diamonds, I thought her the queen of the land, And her hair it hung over her shoulders, Tied up with a black velvet band. 3. I took a stroll down Broadway, Meaning not long for to stay, When who should I see but a pretty fair maid, Come tripping along the pathway. 4. She was both fair and handsome, Her neck it was just like the swan, And her hair it hung over her shoulders, Tied up with a black velvet band. 5. I took a stroll with this pretty fair maid, And a gentleman passing us by, I knew she meant a doing for him By the look in her roguish black eye. 6. His watch she took from his pocket, And placed it right into my hand, And the very next thing that I said was: ``Bad luck to the black velvet band.'' 7. Before the judge and jury, Next morning I had to appear; The judge he said to me: ``Young man, Your case it is proved clear. 8. ``We'll give you seven years penal servitude, To be spent right away from your land, Far away from your friends and relations, Betrayed by the black velvet band.'' 9. So come all you jolly young fellows, I'll have you take warning by me, When you are out on the liquor, my boys, Beware of your pretty coleen. 10. They'll treat you to strong drink, my boys, Till you are not able to stand, And before you have time to leave them, They'll land you in Van Dieman's Land. "Donald Macgillavry" Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry, Donald comes down the hill wild and angry Donald will clear the gouk's nest cleverly, Here's to the king and Donald Macgillavry. Come like a weighbank, Donald Macgillavry, Come like a weighbank, Donald Macgillavry, Balance them fair, and balance them cleverly: Off wi' the counterfeit, Donald Macgillavry. Doanld's run o'er the hill but his tether, man, As he were wud, or stang'd wi' an ether, man; When he comes back, there's some will look merrily: Here's to King James and Donald Macgillavry. Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry, Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry, Pack on your back and elwand sae cleverly; Gie them full measure, my Donald Macgillavry. Donald has foughten wi' reif and roguery; Donald has dinner'd wi' banes and beggary, Bettwe it were for Whigs and Whiggery Meeting the devil than Donald Macgillavry. Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry, Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry, Push about, in and out, thimble them cleverly, Here's to King James and Donald Macgillavry. Donald's the callan that brooks nae tangleness; Whigging and prigging and a' newfangleness, They maun be gane: he winna be baukit, man: He maun have justice, or faith he'll tak it, man. Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry, Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry; Beat them, and bore them, and lingel them cleverly, Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry. Donald was mumpit wi' mirds and mockery; Donald was blinded wi' blads o' property; Arles ran high, but makings were naething, man, Lord, how Donald is flying and fretting, man. Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry, Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry; Skelp them and scaud them that proved sae unbritherly, Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry! Sir James The Rose -- Steeleye Span Oh have you heard of Sir James the Rose, The young heir of Loch Lagon? For he has killed a gallant squire And his friends are out to take him. And he's gone to the House of Mare A nurse there did befriend him And he has gone upon his knee And begged for her to hide him. "Where ya going, Sir James?" she said. "Where now are you riding?" "Oh, I am bound for a forgein land For now I'm under hiding." Chorus: Where shall I go? Where shall I run? Where shall I for to hide me? For I have killed a gallant squire And they're seeking for to slay me. She turned him right and roundabout And turned him in the braken. And he has gone to take a sleep In the lowlands of Loch Lagon. He had not well gone out of sight Nor was he past Millstraton When four and twenty belted knights Came riding on the leven. "Have you see Sir James the Rose, The young heir of Loch Lagon? For he has killed a gallant squire And we're sent out to take him." "You'll see the bank above the mill In the lowlands of Loch Lagon And there you'll find SIr James the Rose Sleeping in the bracken." "You must not wake him out of sleep Nor yet must you afright him. Just run a dart right thru his heart And thru the body pierce him." They saw the bank above the mill In the lowlands of Loch Lagon And there they found Sir James the Rose Sleeping in the bracken. Then up and spake Sir John the Grey Who had the charge of keeping. "It will never be said, dear gentlemen We killed him while he's sleeping." They seized his broadsword and his charge And closely him surrounded. And when he woke out of sleep His senses were confounded. Now they have taken out his heart And stuck it on a spear They took it to the House of Mare And gave it to his dear. THE QUEEN OF ALL ARGYLL Gentlemen, it is my duty to inform you of one beauty, though I'd ask of you a favor no' to see her for a while. Though I own she is a creature, of character and feature, no words could paint the picture of the queen of all Argyll. Cho: And if you could have seen her there, boys if you had just been there, the swan was in her movement and the morning in her smile. All the roses in the garden, they bow and ask her pardon, for not one could match the beauty of the queen of all Argyll. On the evening that I mention, I passed with light intention through a part of our dear country known for beauty and for style, being a place of noble thinkers, of scholars and great drinkers, far above them all for splendor shone the queen of all Argyll. (cho) Now my lads I needs must leave you; my intention's no' to grieve you, nor indeed will I deceive you, no, I'll see you in a while. I must find some way to gain her, to court her and obtain her, oh I fear my heart's in danger from the queen of all Argyll. The Ramblin' Rover - Andy M. Stewart Oh there's sober men and plenty and drunkards nearly twenty There are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl But gi' me a ramblin' rover frae Orkney down to Dover We will roam the country over and together we'll face the world I've roamed through all the nations, ta'en delight in all creation And I've tried a wee sensation where company did prove kind When parting was no pleasure I've drunk another measure To the good friends that we treasure for they always are in our mind There's many that fein enjoyment from merciless employment Their ambition was this deployment from the minute they left the school And they save and scrape and ponder while the rest go out and squander See the world and rove and wander and they're happier as a rule If you're bent with arthritis your bowels have got colitis You've got gallopin' bollockitis and you're thinking it's time you died If you've been a man of action while you're lying there in traction You may gain some satisfaction thinking "Jesus at least I tried!" Rattlin' Bog - traditional Oh, row, the rattlin' bog The bog down in the valley, oh Oh, row, the rattlin' bog The bog down in the valley, oh In the bog there was a tree A rare tree, a rattlin' tree Tree in the bog And the bog down in the valley, oh On the tree there was a limb A rare limb, a rattlin' limb Limb on the tree And the tree in the bog And the bog down in the valley, oh . . . >From the bird there came this song A rare song, a rattlin' song Song from the bird And the bird from the egg And the egg in the nest And the nest on the twig And the twig on the branch And the branch on the limb And the limb on the tree And the tree in the bog And the bog down in the valley, oh 'Scotland the Brave'? Hark when the night is falling Hear! hear the pipes are calling, Loudly and proudly calling, Down thro' the glen. There where the hills are sleeping, Now feel the blood a-leaping, High as the spirits of the old Highland men. Chorus: Towering in gallant fame, Scotland my mountain hame, High may your proud standards gloriously wave, Land of my high endeavour, Land of the shining river, Land of my heart for ever, Scotland the brave. High in the misty Highlands, Out by the purple islands, Brave are the hearts that beat Beneath Scottish skies. Wild are the winds to meet you, Staunch are the friends that greet you, Kind as the love that shines from fair maiden's eyes. (chorus) Far off in sunlit places, Sad are the Scottish faces, Yearning to feel the kiss Of sweet Scottish rain. Where tropic skies are beaming, Love sets the heart a-dreaming, Longing and dreaming for the homeland again. (chorus) Origins: Ancient pipe tune Witch of the Westmereland There was the wounded knight Who bore the rowan shield Loud and cruel were the raven's cries As they feasted on the field. Saying, "Black water, cold and wierd, Will never clean your wound. There's none but the witch of the Westmereland Can make thee healin' soon." So turn, turn your stallion's head Till his red mane flies in the wind. And the rider of the moon goes by And the bright star falls behind. And queer was the paling moon When shadow passed him by. Below the hill with the brightest stars When he heard the owl that cried. Saying, "Why do you ride this way? And where for pray ye here." "I seek the witch of the Westmereland Who dweels by the winding mere." It's weary here by the owl's water And teh misty breakard way. Till thru the crack of the Quirkstone Pass The winding water lay. He said, "Lay down me brindled hound. And rest me good grey hawk. And leave my steed may graze thy fill For I must dismount and walk." "And come when you hear my horn And answer swift because For I fear the sun will rise this morn You will serve me best of all." And it's down to the water's brim. He's born the rowan shield And the golden rod he has cast in To see what the lake might yield. And wet she rose from the lake. And fast and sleek went she - One half the form of a maiden fair With a jet black mare's body. And loud long a trail he blew Till his steed was by his side. Overhead teh rgey hawk flew And swiftly he did ride. Saying, "Horse as well m' hound look out Fetch me the jet black mare. Stoop and strike me 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 velvet blue Bound 'round with a silver chain. And she's kissed his pale lips once and twice And three times round again. She's bound his wound with the golden rod. And fast in her arms he lay. And he has risen hale and soon With the sun high in the day. She said, "Ride with your brindled hounds at heel. And your good grey hawk at hand. There's none that can harm the knight Who's laid with the witch of the Westmereland." The Barley Mow Now here's good luck to the gill-pot Good luck to the Barley Mow Here's good luck to the gill-pot Good luck to the Barley Mow The gill-pot Half-a gill Quarter-gill Nipperkin, and a round bowl And here's good luck, good luck Good luck to the Barley Mow The tavern The company The brewer The slavey The daughter The landlady The landlord The barrel Half-a-barrel The gallon Half-a-gallon Quart-pot Pint-pot Half-a-pint Gill-pot Charlie Mopps Beer, beer, beer, give us some beer, beer, beer, give us some beer, beer, beer. A long time ago, way back in history, When all there was to drink was nothing but cups of tea. Along came a man, by the name of Charlie Mopps, And he invented a wonderful drink, and he made it out of hops. Chorus: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, CHEERS! He must have been an admiral, a sultan, or a king, And to his praises we always sing. Look what he has done for us, he's filled us up with cheer, The lord bless Charlie Mopps, the man who invented beer, beer, beer, give us some beer, beer, beer, give us some beer, beer, beer. The Lone West,The Three Steins,The Hole In The Wall as well, One thing you can be sure of its Charlie's beer they sell. So come along be lucky lad, at one o'clock it stops; For five short seconds remember Charlie Mopps. Chorus A barrel of malt,bushels of hops,stir it round with a stick; A froth of lubrication will make your voices thick. Forty pints of Guinness a day will keep away the Quack. It's only eight and seven a pint, two and six in tax. Chorus HORRAH! for Charlie Mopps! The Night the Dun-Cow Burned Some friends and i in a public house was playin' dominos one night. When into the room a potman came, his face all ghastly white. "What's up?" says Brown. "Have you seen a ghost? Have you seen you're Aunt Marriah?" "Oh, me Aunt Marriah be buggered!" says he. "The bleedin' pub's on fire!" "On fire!" says Brown. "What a bit o' luck! Everybody follow me! It's down in the cellar! If the fire's not there, we'll have a grand old spree!" So we all goes down with good old Brown, and the booze we could not miss. And we hadn't been there ten minutes or more 'til we were quite like tihs: Chorus: There was Brown. UPSIDEDOWN! Moppin' up the whiskey on the floor. Booze! Booze! The firemen cried as they came knockin' at the door. (knock, knock) Oh, don't let 'em in 'til it's all mopped up! Somebody shouted, "MacIntire." (MacIntire!) And we all got blue blind palatic drunk when they ol' Dun-Cow caught fire. The Johnson ran over to the port wine tub, 'n gave it a few hard knocks. (knock, knock) ' started takin' off his pantaloons; likewise his shoes 'n socks. "Hold on!" says Brown. "That ain't allowed. You can't do that in here. Don't be washin' your trotters in the port wine tub When we've got some Guinness beer! Chorus And then there came a mighty crash! Half the bloody roof gave way. We were crowned in the firemen's hose, though we were still quite gay. So we got some sacks 'n some old tin tacks, 'n we buggered ourselves inside. And we sat there drinking fine old Scotch 'til we were bleary-eyed. Chorus Four Nights Drunk Now, as I come home So drunk I couldn't see, oh 'Twas there I spied the horse No horse should be there I says unto my wife "Tell this to me, oh How come the horse there? No horse should be there" "You old fool, you silly fool Can't you plainly see, oh Nothing but a milk cow My mother sent to me, oh" Miles I have travelled A thousand miles and more, oh Saddle on a milk cow I've never seen before boots / flower pot / laces hat / chamber pot / sweatband baby / man / whiskers Here's a Health Kind friends and companions, come join me in rhyme Come lift up your voices in chorus with mine Let's drink and be merry, all grief to refrain For we may or might never all meet here again Here's a health to the company and one to my lass Let's drink and be merry all out of one glass Let's drink and be merry, all grief to refrain For we may or might never all meet here again Here's a health to the wee lass that I love so well For kindness and beauty there's none can excel She smiles on my countenance as she sits on my knee There's no one on Earth as happy as me Our ship lies at anchor, she is ready to dock I wish her safe landing without any shock And if ever we should meet again, by land or by sea I will always remember your kindness to me Whiskey-O - as sung by Donkey's Breakfast Whiskey-o, Johny-o Rise her up from down below Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o Up aloft this yard must go John rise her up from down below Now whiskey is the life of man Always was since the world began Now whiskey gave me a broken nose And whiskey made me pawn me clothes Now whiskey is the life of man Whiskey from that old tin can I thought I heard the first mate say I treats me crew in a decent way A glass of whiskey all around And a bottle full for the shanty man (Spoken: Up she blew!) Lilly the Pink Oh, we'll drink a drink (a drink a drink) to Lilly the Pink (the pink the pink) The saviour of the human race . . . For she invented medicinal compound, most eficacious in every case! Eleber Friers Had sticky-out ears And it made him awful shy And so they game him medicinal compound; Now he's learning how to fly . . . . Ebeneezer Thought he was Julius Ceaser And so they put him in a home, Where they gave him medicinal compound; Now he's emporer of Rome. Dan Malone -- Gemma Hasson Oh, me name is Dan Malone I've no place to call me home. I'm an outcast in the land that I was born in. And I'm weary of the load On this long and lonely road. How I hate to face the sunlight in the morning. Oh the land is rich and wide But hunger walks beside. I'm an outcast in this proud land that bore me. My life is almost done Amd my courage is all gone For the long road that stretches out before me. Then that day so long ago I met Kitty from me home. Fair of face, her voice forever charmed me. But she couldn't bear the load On this long and lonely road. Now her grave lies unident' outside Killarny. I have begged from time to time. I have drunk the golden wine. I've fought men and I've done my share of lovin'. I've met wise men; I've met fools. But we've always known the rules. A tinker man must always be a movin'. Ah but maybe one day soon When the heather is in bloom, I lay my head upon the scented clover. A man can't always fight, And so a long winter's night I'll go to sleep; my troubles will be over. Then remember Dan malone As I loe here all alone Remember me to this proud land that bore me. I can sleep my time away In six feet of pauper's clay, No open road lay stretching out before me. I'll Tell me Ma - trad. I'll tell me Ma when I go home The boys won't leave the girls alone They'll pull my hair, they stole my comb Well, that's alright 'til I go home She is handsome, she is pretty She's the belle of Belfast City She is courting one, two, three Please won't you tell me, who is she? Albert Mooney says he loves her All the boys are fighting for her They knock at the door and ring at the bell Saying, "Oh my true love, are you well?" Out she comes, as white as snow Rings on her fingers, bells on her toes Oul Jenny Murray say's she'll die If she doesn't get the fellow with the rovin' eye Let the wind and the rain and the hail blow high And the snow come tumbling from the sky She's as nice as apple pie She'll get her own lad by and by When she gets a lad of her own She won't tell her Ma when she comes home Let them all come as they will For it's Albert Mooney she loves still Oh No, Not I - as sung by Eileen McGann A Newfoundland sailor went walking on the strand He spied a pretty fair young maid and took her by the hand "Oh, will you go to Newfoundland along with me" he cried But the answer that she gave to him was "Oh no, not I" "If I were to marry you, on me would be the blame My friends and relations would scorn me to shme If you were born of noble blood and me of low degree Do you think that I would you marry you? And it's Oh no, not me" Six months being over, and seven coming nigh This pretty fair young maid she began to look so shy Her corsets would not meet and her apron would not tie Made her think of all the times when she said "Oh no, not I" Eight months being over and nine coming on This pretty fair young maiden she brought forth a son She wrote a letter to her love to come home speedily But the answer that he gave to her was "Oh no, not me" He said "My pretty fair maid, the best that you can do Is to take your child upon your back and a-begging you may go And it's when, if you get tired, you can sit you down and cry And think of all the times when you said "Oh no, not I" So come all ye pretty fair maids a warning take by me Don't ever put your trust in the green willow tree For the leaves they will wither and the root it will die Make you think of all the times when you said "Oh no, not I" Star of the County Down In Bambridge Town in the County Down One morning last July >From a boreen Green came a sweet coleen And she smiled as she passed me by She looked so sweet from her two bare feet To the sheen of her nut-brown hair Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself For to see I was really there From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay And from Galway to Dublin Town No maid I've seen like the brown coleen that I met in the County Down As she onward sped, sure I scratched my head And I looked with a feelin' rare And I says, says I, to a passer-by "Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?" He smiled at me and he says, says he "That's the gem of Ireland's crown It's Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann She's the star of the County Down" At the harvest fair she'll be surely there And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes With my shoes shone bright and my hat cocked right For a smile from my nut-brown rose No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke 'Til my Plow turns rust-coloured brown 'Til a smiling bride by my own fireside Sits the star of the County Down Barrett's Privateers - Stan Rogers Oh the year was 1778 How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now A letter of marque came from the king To the scummiest vessel I've ever seen God damn them all I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold We'd fire no guns, shed no tears Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier, The last of Barrett's Privateers Oh Elcid Barrett cried the town For twenty brave men all fishermen who Would make for him the Antelope's crew The Antelope sloop was a sickening site She'd list to the port and her sails in rags And the cook in the scuppers with the staggers and jags On the King's birthday we put to sea Ninety-one days to Montego Bay Pumping like madmen all the way On the ninety-sixth day we sailed again When a great big Yankee hove in sight With our cracked four-pounders we made to fight The Yankee lay low down with gold She was broad and fat and loose in staves But to catch her took the Antelope two whole days Then at length she stood two cables away Our cracked four-pounders made awful din But with one fat ball the Yank stove us in The Antelope shook and pitched on her side Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggs And the main truck carried off both me legs Now here I lay in my twenty-third year It's been six years since we sailed away And I just made Halifax yesterday Blow the Man Down Come all ye young fellows that follows the sea To me, way hey, blow the man down Now please pay attention and listen to me Give me some time to blow the man down I'm a deep water sailor just come from Hong Kong You give me some whiskey, I'll sing you a song When a trim Black Ball liner's preparing for sea (?) On a trim Black Ball liner I wasted me prime When a trim Black Ball liner preparing for sea You'll split your sides laughing such sights you would see There's tinkers and tailors, shoemakers and all They're all shipped for sailors aboard the Black Ball When a big Black Ball liner's a-leaving her dock The boys and the girls on the pier-head do flock Now, when the big liner, she's clear of land Our bosun he roars out the word of command Come quickly, lay aft to the break of the poop Or I'll help you along with the toe of me boot Pay attention to orders, now, you one and all For see high above there flies the Black Ball 'Tis larboard and starboard, on deck you will sprawl For kicking Jack Rogers commands the Black Ball The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot The legend lives on, from the Chippewa on down Of the big lake they call Gitchee Gumee. The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead When the skies of november turn gloomy. With a load of iron ore, 26,000 tons more Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty, That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed, When the gales of November came early. The ship was the pride of the American side Comin' back from some mill in Wisconsin. As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most With a crew and good captain well seasoned. Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms, When they left fully loaded for Cleveland, And late that night when the ship's bell rang Could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'? The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound, And a wave broke over the railing, And every man knew as the captain did too, 'twas the Witch of November come stealin'. The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait, When the gales of November came slashin'. When afternoon came it was freezin' rain, In the face of a hurricane west wind. When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck Sayin' "Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya". At seven p.m., the main hatchway caved in, he said "Fellas, it's been good to know ya". The captain wired in he had water comin' in And the good ship and crew was in peril, And later that night when its lights went out of sight Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Does anyone know where the love of God goes, When the waves turn the minutes to hours? The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay If they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'em. They might have split up or they might have capsized, They may have broke deep and took water. And all that remains is the faces and the names Of the wives and the sons and the daughters. Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings In the rooms of her ice water mansions. Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams, The islands and bays are for sportsmen. And farther below Lake Ontario Takes in what Lake Erie can send her. And the iron boats go as the mariners all know With the gales of November remembered. In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed in the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral The church bell chimed 'til it rang 29 times, For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald. The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down Of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee Superior, they said, never gives up her dead, When the gales of November come early. Rollin' Down to Old Maui It's a damn tough life full of toil and strife We whalermen undergo And we don't give a damn when the gale is done How hard the winds do blow We're homeward bound from the Arctic Sound With a good ship taught and free And we don't give a damn when we drink our rum With the girls of Old Maui Rolling down to Old Maui, me boys Rolling down to Old Maui We're homeward bound from the Arctic Ground Once more we sail with a Northerly gale Through the ice, and wind, and rain Them cononut fronds, them tropical lands We soon shall see again Six hellish months we passed away On the cold Kamchatka sea But now we're bound from the Arctic ground Rolling down to Old Maui Once more we sail the Northerly gale Towards our Island home Our mainmast sprung, our whaling done And we ain't got far to roam Our stans'l booms is carried away What care we for that sound A living gale after us Thank God we're homeward bound How soft the breeze through the island trees Now the ice is far astern Them native maids, them tropical glades Is awaiting our return Even now their big, brown eyes look out Hoping some fine to see Our baggy sails running 'fore the gales Rolling down to Old Maui We'll heave the lead where old Diamond Head Looms up on old Wahu Our masts and yards are sheathed with ice And our desks are hid from view The horrid ice of the sea-caked isles That deck the Artcic sea Are miles behind in the frozen wind Since we steered for Old Maui And now we're anchoured in the bay With the Kanakas all around With chants and soft aloha-oos They greet us homeward bound And now ashore we'll have good fun We'll paint them beaches red Awakening in the arms of an island maid With a big fat aching head Zulaika -from the singing of Oscar Brand Zulaika was lovely to see A young Persian maiden was she She lived in Baghdad where the men are all bad But none was so bad as she Repeat: She lived in Baghdad where the men are all bad But none was so bad as she Her husband was very old With millions in silver and gold He locked her away by night and by day For Persians are very bold On her head she wore a turban Which came from the fields of Iran Where no one could see she kept a small key Which she threw out again and again The first time she threw out the key It fell by the old banyon tree She sighed and she cried till the door opened wide And in walked her lover, Ali The next time she threw the key out It fell by the old water spout She sighed and she cried till the door opened wide And in walked her lover, Mahout She threw out the ket once again Expecting her lover Suleiman She sighed and she cried, then the door opened wide And in walked a whole caravan The leader bowed his head low Waiting her wishes to know At last she did say, "Well most of you stay --But the Children and Camels must go!" She finished with all of the men Her appetite not at an end She sighed and she cried, and flung the door wide "Bring the children and the camels back in!" The Maid on the Shore There is a young maiden She lives all alone She lives all aloneon the shore-o There's nothing she can find To comfort her mind But to roam all alone on the shore, shore, shore But to roam all alone on the shore. 'Twas of the young captain Who sailed the salt sea Let the wind blow high, blow low-o. I will die, I will die, The young captain did cry If I don't have that maid on the shore. Well I have lots of silver I have lots of gold. I have lots of costly ware-os. I'll divide, I'll divide With my jolly ship's crew If they row me that maid on the shore. After much persuassion They got her aboard, Let the wind blow high, blow low. They replaced her away In his cabin below. And here's a due to all sorrow and care. They replaced her away In his cabin below. Let the wind blow high, blow low-o. She's so pretty and neat. She's so sweet and complete, She sung the captain and sailors to sleep. Then she robbed him of silver She robbed him of gold She robbed him of costly ware-os. Then she took his broadsword Instead of an oar. And paddled her way to the shore. Me men must be crazy Me men must be mad. Me men must be deep in dispair-o. For to let you away >From my cabin so gay. And to paddle your way to the shore. Well your men was not crazy. Your men was not mad. Your men was not deep in dispair-o. I deluded your sailors As well as yourself. I'm a maiden again on the shore. Well there is a young maiden She lives all alone. She lives all alone on the shore-o. There's nothing she can find To comfort her mind. But to roam all alone on the shore. Date: Thu, 19 Nov 1992 17:28:40 -0600 (CST) From: Z_BERRYRW@CCSVAX.SFASU.EDU (RICK Z_BERRYRW@CCSVAX.SFASU.EDU) Subject: REQUEST: Drinking songs and loud obnoxious things Greetings, I would be most pleased to share with you those songs which I know. I cannot, however, attest to their period. Most I would suspect are after period. I will herein list the titles I can remember, and you can then tell me if any are interesting/new to you :) The Lusty Smith (bawdy, but no explicit lyrics) Cruiscin Lan (Irish Gaelic, prob post period, but cool) Ball of Balanore (aka B of Invermuir) Bawdy, or Nasty Choruses I'm a Rover The Ramblin' Rover Three Jolly Coachmen The Bonnie Black Hare The Drunken Scotsman (or, The Blue Ribbon) and of course, The Moose Song (banned repeatedly) My mind is blanking, I must know others... I suppose I remember others when in the SCA mood... Drop me a line if you'd like the lyrics and tune for any of these... --Wolfrick Thorrinson Shire of Graywood, Ansteorra mka Rick z_berryrw@ccsvax.sfasu.edu From: David Schroeder Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Subject: Knight & Unicorn Song Date: Wed, 8 Sep 1993 22:20:16 -0400 Organization: Doctoral student, Industrial Administration, Carnegie Mellon, Pit tsburgh, PA Greetings -- Excerpts from netnews.rec.org.sca: 8-Sep-93 SCA Music FTP? by Jade Dragon@vax1.mankato.msus.edu writes: > I'm looking for the words to a song I once had the words to -- > The Knight and the Unicorn. I'd appreciate any help I can get. Only too glad to oblige -- I wrote it quite a few years ago... :-) THE KNIGHT AND THE UNICORN by Bertram of Bearington ================================================================= There was a knight, a lusty knight, a randy knight was he, He had eleven mistresses and bastards thirty-three... He indulged in every excess, yes, in each licencious whim, So you should have seen his jaw drop when a unicorn chose _him_! Please go away my gold-maned friend, be gone I do declare! My reputation will be shot with all the ladies fair. I fear you've got the wrong man, of my friend with coat so fine... I haven't been a virgin since I reached the age of nine! I've led a very lusty life, falls winters, springs, and summers. I have no peers with "pool weapons," yes I'll take on all "comers" So go away fair unicorn, if not I'll be grief stricken -- The rampant cock upon my shield will turn into a chicken! The ladies all reject me thinking I'm so much bravado. There must be twenty knights around with _chastity_ their motto. So go away fair unicorn, yes please leave me alone... The ladies will not lay with me with _you_ for chaperone! Please go away my gold-maned friend, be gone and do no tarry. You'll find the kind of man you seek up in the mon-as-tery. No wait, they're not the kind of monk's who're celibately sleeping, Instead of Mass and priestly vows it's _mistresses_ they're keeping! The unicorn said not a word but with a soft "tap tap" She curved her hooves around his legs, put her head upon his lap. The knight looked in her deep brown eyes and said, "Why me, why you?" The unicorn demurely said "My lord I'm horney tooo-ooooo!" There was a knight, a lusty knight, a randy knight was he, He took to wife a unicorn And they're both quite happy. The music is available in the second volume of the Elf Hill Times Songbook, which I believe Alban St. Albans sells. Also, so oldtimers in Northshield might well have copies of "Friar Bertram's Original Song Book" that includes it. Happy singing. My best -- Bertram Newsgroups: rec.org.sca From: dickerso@fester.dell.com (Russell Dickerson - X2787) Subject: Filk of "Rodeo" Organization: StorageTek Date: Thu, 9 Sep 1993 16:19:38 GMT First of all, I dont care who dosen't like Filks so flames > /dev/null. Any positive feedback > dickerso@gomez.stortek.com My wife (H.L. Jessica de Andalucia) and I (H.L. Russell Jervis) wrote this filk a couple of months ago and sang it first for some friends at the Ansteorran Corronation... "Tournament" A "filk" of "Rodeo" by Garth Brooks By H.L. Jessica de Andalucia and H.L. Russell Jervis 1993 This song is sung (1), Chorus, (2), Chorus, (3), Chorus and final line. If you know the song, you'll be able to sing it right off. Chorus ------ E Well it's belts and blood, E Its the dust and mud A E It's the roar of the gathered crowd E Its the pain in his back E From the lightning attack B# He'll throw in the final round. E It's sword and shield, it's an argeant field A E It's armor and ligament E It's the power and the fame and the joy and the pain B# And they call the thing a tournament. 1) E His armor's cold and polished A His wounds have almost healed, A E And she'd give up a peerage A E Just to keep him off the field. E Well she knows his loves in Namron, A And she knowns thats where he's set. E Well it ain't no lady, flesh and blood, B# Its that damn old Coronet. (alternate: Its that damn Crown Tournament) 2) She does her best to hold him, When the herald makes the call But that brass hat it drives him And her back's against the wall. And it's "So long, girl, I'll see you" When it's time to armor up. You know a lady wants her fighter, Like he wants his tournament. 3) It'll drive a squire crazy, It'll drive a knight insane. And he'll sell of everything he owns Just to pay to play the game. And a broken home and some broken bones Is all he's gonna get. For all the years that he spent chasing, That ducal coronet. Final Line.. E It's the power and the fame and the blows to the brain, B# And they call the thing a tournament. -- ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Russell Dickerson Unix/X Programmer StorageTek - Customer Emulation Lab (303) 673-5409 ---REPLY TO>>> dickerso@cpat.stortek.com <<>>>>> If it isn't broke, we obviously haven't tested it yet. <<<<<<<<< Newsgroups: rec.org.sca From: rvoris@world.std.com (Rebecca A Voris) Subject: SCA Folklore song (was Re: How I swear in period and other fun things) Organization: The World Public Access UNIX, Brookline, MA Date: Fri, 12 Nov 1993 02:57:26 GMT All right, Yaakov. You can stop twisting my arm now... I wrote this song a few years ago for a silly song contest at an event. It is based on a story I heard, which supposedly happened "somewhere in the Middle Kingdom". The chorus should be sung to the "anvil chorus". The verses should be sung to a tune I made up. If you put your ear really close to the monitor, you might be able to hear me humming. As I walked out one May morning To the tourney field so green I saw a knight prepare to fight But certain gear all knights hold dear Was nowhere to be seen CHORUS: Men of iron don't require A cup to guard their jewels But I'll wear this iron pan To honor marshalls' rules He had no lack of strength or skill His sword on helms did ring He would not yield the tourney field He would overthrow each valiant blow And so he became their king The king he had a squire who thought That as a springtime jest He'd give the king an iron pan That it should guard with metal hard The part the Queen liked best The next tourney the king did wear That pan upon his belt And wise was he, for in one bout From foe he got an ill-timed shot That verily he felt The king now wears a cup whenever He intends to fight He learned his lesson well that day And we suppose, thought no-one knows The Queen slept well that night A minstrel who was on the field Said "Pray, good folks, a word. What we have seen here illustrates It goes to show, as wise men know, The pan's mightier than the sword." Godith Anyon Carolingia rvoris@world.std.com From: maf@therev.uucp (Mark A. Foster) Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Subject: Lyrics to The Herald's Complaint Keywords: Lyrics Copyright Date: Sun, 28 Nov 93 16:37:52 PST Organization: InterContinental Ballistic Tacos Baldwin of Erebor, MKA Derek Foster, is my brother. Although he does not read this newsgroup, I do, as do many of his friends. Violations of the copyrights on his work WILL come to his attention. I called Derek at home in California this afternoon and asked for permission to post the lyrics to The Herald's Complaint. He graciously granted his permission to post, provided the lyrics would not be used in publications or recordings without his permission. The following lyrics are from the volume "Broadside of a Bard", Copyright 1979 by Derek Foster. Posted to rec.org.sca with the author's express permission. Retransmission of the contents of this posting, or use of this material in performance or publication for compensation or remuneration of any kind, without the author's consent, is a violation of copyright laws and can result in prosecution. [Author's note: This one I can blame on no one but myself. It was first performed at the Outlandish Coronet Tourney in October of AS XII.] The Herald's Complaint Baldwin of Erebor When I was just a pursuivant at Herald High I studied with a conscience as the days went by; I listened to the lectures and took note of evry phrase And I gave my life to learning the correct heraldic ways. But with ev'ning come and classes closed and midnight candles burnt, I would lie in bed and hearken back to all that I had learnt, And as I lay near slumber's door beneath the candle's gleam An eerie vision came to me appearing in a dream - It was a dove displayed upon a billet chequy or and gules Between a pair of cockatrices clad in motley like a fool's. Their feathers were dimidiated with a tree eradicated Limbed and fructed counter compony. Beside the field of honor at a tournament I was resting from my labors in the herald's tent When my reverie was broken by a newly-belted knight Who had come for some assurance that his coat of arms was right. I sat him down and talked to him about simplicity And shared with him the good advice that had been taught to me. "My lord," he said, "My thanks to thee, you really have been kind. Now let me tell you of the coat of arms I have in mind. I want a dove displayed upon a billet chequy or and gules Between a pair of cockatrices clad in motley like a fool's. Their feathers are dimidiated with a tree eradicated Limbed and fructed counter compony." "Your blazon is impossible," was my response. "It's so complex, the college would reject it at the nonce. It breaks the rules of heraldry; it can't be done, you see. Besides, the arms you've blazoned have been registered to me. I have a a dove displayed upon a billet chequy or and gules Between a pair of cockatrices clad in motley like a fool's. Their feathers are dimidiated with a tree eradicated Limbed and fructed counter compony - And those are the arms that belong to me!" Lyrics and music copyright 1978, 1979 by Derek Foster. Reproduced and posted by Mark A. Foster, with the author's permission. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Mark A. Foster -> maf@therev.UUCP -> {backbone}!unmvax!bbx!therev!maf or -> bbx!therev!maf@unmvax.cs.unm.edu From: eabbott@unlinfo.unl.edu (eric abbott) Newsgroups: rec.org.sca,alt.music.filk Subject: Re: Herald's song Date: 21 Nov 1993 20:11:58 GMT Organization: University of Nebraska--Lincoln ian@cs.brandeis.edu (Xiphias Gladius) writes: >chris@keris.demon.co.uk (Chris Croughton) writes: >>I am looking for a song that I heard in the SCA. It was apparently >>written by a herald some time ago. It's about a person who wants to >>register an 'impossible' blazon, and the description (the chorus) goes >>something like: >> It was a: >> Dove displayed upon a billet checky Or and Gules, >> Between a pair of cockatrices dressed in motley like a fool's. >> Their feathers were (?), with a tree eradicated, >> Limbed and fruited counter company. I believe this is a personal badge of Baldwin of Erebor, maybe Arval could clarify this. A dove displayed upon a billet checky or & gules, a pair of cockitrices clad in motley like the fools, their wings dimidated with a tree eradicated, limbed and fructed countercompony! or so to the best of my memory! Does anyone have the words to the herald's song sung by Master Laurel, something along the lines of. . . Because red is for purity, white is for blood, and lions and roses are common as mud. and unicorns varied can only be carried, by those who survive a great flood!! Memory fades with age.... in Service, Salvador From: hrjones@uclink.berkeley.edu (Heather Rose Jones) Newsgroups: rec.org.sca,alt.music.filk Subject: Re: Herald's song Date: 22 Nov 1993 01:38:46 GMT Organization: University of California, Berkeley In article , Xiphias Gladius wrote: > >I heard this song once; the story goes that the blazon was made and >registered to the songwriter. It is apparently TRULY hideous. > >May I ask that this be posted? It seems to be public domain, since >the Carolingian Heralds use the song in their heraldry demonstrations. > > - Ian The song is NOT PUBLIC DOMAIN! It is copyright 1978, 1979 by Derek Foster (known in the SCA as Master Baldwin of Erebor, a Caidan). It would be inappropriate to publicly publish the lyrics without his permission. Keridwen ferch Morgan Glasfryn From: hrjones@uclink.berkeley.edu (Heather Rose Jones) Newsgroups: rec.org.sca,alt.music.filk Subject: Re: Herald's song Date: 22 Nov 1993 01:46:42 GMT Organization: University of California, Berkeley In article <2coi2e$q7j@crcnis1.unl.edu>, eric abbott wrote: >Does anyone have the words to the herald's song sung by Master Laurel, >something along the lines of. . . > > Because red is for purity, white is for blood, > [etc.] >in Service, Salvador It's available in a collection entitled "Songbook Pusher - Songs by Heather Rose Jones", found at fine filk dealers everywhere (by definition, if they don't carry it, they aren't fine). Keridwen ferch Morgan Glasfryn (Heather Rose Jones) From: jab2@stl.stc.co.uk (Jennifer Ann Bray) Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Subject: greensleeves lyrics as published 1584 Date: 2 Jun 94 11:51:39 Organization: STC Technology Ltd., London Road, Harlow, UK. These lyrics come from "A Handful of Pleasant Delights" by Clement Robinson and Divers Others originally published in 1584 my edition was published by Dover in 1965 it is edited by Hyder E. Rollins Standard Book Number 486-21382-X Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 65-20488 It took me a while to find where I put the book. I hope the lyrics aren't arriving too late to be useful to the person who wanted them. Jennifer/Rannveik Vanaheim Vikings --------------------------------------------------------------- A new Courtly Sonet, of the Lady Green sleeues. To the new tune of Greensleeues. Greensleeues was all my ioy, Greensleeues was my delight: Greensleeues was my hart of gold, And who but my Ladie Greensleeues. Alas my loue, ye do me wrong, to cast me off discurteously: And I haue loued you so long, Delighting in your companie. Greensleeues was all my ioy, Greensleeues was my delight: Greensleeues was my hart of gold, And who but my Ladie Greensleeues. I haue been readie at your hand, to grant what euer you would craue. I haue both waged life and land, your loue and good will for to haue. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. I bought thee kerchers to thy head, that were wrought fine and gallantly: I kept thee both at boord and bed, Which cost my purse wel fauouredly, Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. I bought thee peticotes of the best, the cloth so fine as fine might ve: I gaue thee iewels for thy chest, and all this cost I spent on thee. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. They smock of silk, both faire and white, with gold embrodered gorgeously: They peticote of Sendall right: and thus I bought thee gladly. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. They girdle of gold so red, with pearles bedecked sumptuously: The like no other lasses had, and yet thou wouldst not loue me, Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. They purse and eke thy gay guilt kniues, they pincase gallent to the eie: No better wore the Burgesse wiues, and yet thou wouldst not louse me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. They crimson stockings all of silk, with golde all wrought aboue the knee, Thy pumps as white as was the milk, and yet thou wouldst not loue me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. They gown was of the grossie green, the sleeues of Satten hanging by: Which made thee be our haruest Queen, and yet thou wouldst not loue me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. Thy garters fringed with the golde, And siluer aglets hanging by, Which made thee blithe for to beholde, and yet thou wouldst not loue me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. My gayest gelding I thee gaue To ride where euer liked thee, No Ladie euer was so braue, and yet thou wouldst not loue me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. My men were clothed all in green, And they did euer wait on thee: Al this was gallant to be seen, and yet thou wouldst not loue me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. They set thee vp, they took thee downe, they serued thee with humilitie, Thy foote might not once touch the ground, and yet thou wouldst not loue me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. For euerie morning when thou rose, I sent thee dainties orderly: To cheare thy stomack from all woes, and yet thou wouldst not loue me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. Thou couldst desire no earthly thing. But stil thou hadst it readily: Thy musicke still to play and sing, And yet thou wouldst not loue me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. And who did pay for all this geare, that thou didst spend when pleased thee? Euen I that am reiected here, and thou disdainest to loue me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. Wel, I wil pray to God on hie, that thou my constancie maist see: And that yet once before I die, thou wilt vouchsafe to loue me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. Greensleeues now farewel adue, God I pray to prosper thee: For I am stil they louer true, come once again and loue me. Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c. Finis. --------------------------------------------------------------- From: brgarwood@aol.com (BRgarwood) Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Subject: Re: Help with Song Date: 6 Apr 1995 23:59:37 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) The proper name is Karaelia's Song, It was written by Master Don Iolo FitzOwen who resides in Brwyn Gwlad, Ansteorra (Austin, Tx) There is a song with the same tune written by Iolo's students about him. If I can find it in my files I'll post it. BTW the words are correct. ============ I heard Brendan from Nordskogen sing a parody about Iolo, and was fortunate enough to have my tape recorder running. This Iolo must be a pretty special fellow to inspire such words. Down in Brwyn Gwlad town lives a jolly good fellow whos figure is really a comical sight, for his forhead is bald and his eyes will amaze you, and his gold-colored codpiece is really quite bright. He wears baggy pants, and a ragged old tunic His shoes give his tootsies a room with a view. And he acts very silly, and does antler dances And answeres when called, by the name "Master Moo" (he and his wife moo at each other) His rel name is Iolo, Don Iolo Fitzowen His white sash and Laurel are both well desererved, For he'll build you a crossbow like those in museums Or thrash you at swashbuckling without reserve. He's a shaper of wood, and of bone and of leather, A shaper of souls with a word to the wise. He has carved standing stones to remember the fallen, and he'll sing you a song to bring tears to your eyes. Of the Great Selke's (sp) bride and a cruel lass name Jenny, Karelia's lover and Merlin's gay flute. And the old standing stones and a host of Welsh heros Spring once more to life when he picks up his lute. He's a craftsman, composer, a foole and a fighter, A good friend to many, He'll come when you call. And he'll dance in the garden, and sing in the moonlight Like a nitingale piping in Grennforest Hall. There it is, from memory, not having heard it for over a year, and still parts of it choke me up a bit. I hope I got it right. Berwyn Lord Berwyn AEthelbryght of Ackley, Midlands Herald Rudivale shire, Northshield, Midrealm From: corrie@solutions.solon.com (Corrie Bergeron) Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Subject: Re: Help with Song Date: 10 Apr 1995 06:42:26 GMT Organization: StarNet Communications, Inc Greetings, all! I am Brendan O Corraidhe, Permanent Friend of Iolo (therin lies a tale) and the composer of "Iolo's Song." This is the tale of the song: I had known Don Iolo for a number of years, and held him then (as I do now) in high esteem. Although we never had a formal teacher-student relationship, I learned a great many things from him. The intricacies of a crossbow, any number of songs, and how to be both silly and dignified. The song wrote itself while I was on the way from the Shire of the Shadowlands to Bryn Gwlad for an event. As I was leaving town, I thought, gee, it would be kind of neat to write a gentle parody of Iolo, and do it with his tune. Hmmm... And a line appeared. I mentally filed it away, but it was immediately joined by another, then another..within half a mile I had no choice but to take out pen and paper and start taking dictation. By the time I got to Brywn Gwlad a hour and a half later, the song was 90% complete. I finished it that night (It was a Friday) when I was awakened at 1:00 AM (or so I recall) by the final pieces. Saturday night at feast I performed it. Master Don Iolo could do nothing but sit there and take it. He glared at me. he wiggled his ears. He bugged his eyes. I kept singing, unflappable. He put both his pinkies in his nostrils. I sang on. He withrew his pinkies and ceremoniously put them into his mouth, drawing it into a grimace. At that I stumbled. Later, he told me that he would fain sue me for libel except that I could prove every word. And I can. I have written a lot in my fifteen years of writing and performing in the SCA. Of that collection, there are probably only two or three pieces that I consider to be truly exceptional. "Iolo's Song" is one of them. A small errata: :She has grown straight and handsome and sorcerous all She s/b they, referring to the five children : And answeres when called, by the name "Master Moo" called s/b summoned, it scans better : (he and his wife moo at each other) They do...they really do. He's Mr. Moo, She's Mrs Moo. : A shaper of souls with a word to the wise. souls s/b hearts : Karelia's lover and Merlin's gay flute. Merlin's s/b Myrddyn from Spring Strathspey : Like a nitingale piping in Grennforest Hall. Echoing the last line of the original. : There it is, from memory, not having heard it for over a year, and still : parts of it choke me up a bit. I hope I got it right. Berwyn, your memory is astonishing! -- **************** Corrie Bergeron Brendan O Corraidhe CIM OW OST HH MoSS EIEIO corrie@solon.com **************** From: Sharon Henderson (10/25/95) To: Mark.S Harris RE>YKYITSCAW... Good milord, As you have asked, so have I done; enjoy! The tune is "The Ash Grove," which can found in many folk song books. Cheers, Meli WELSH HISTORY 101 by Heather Rose Jones 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 Copyright Heather Rose Jones, all rights reserved This work has been included in the Digital Tradition by express permission of the author Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Date: Mon, 13 Nov 95 05:57:30 LOC Organization: The 8-Ball Cult (817)613-0153 (52:1850/101) From: Finnian Subject: FIGHTING HAMSTERS, ANYONE -=> Quoting Erin Copeland to All <=- EC> Fm IntrNet: erin@sysiphus.math.ethz.ch [rec.org.sca] EC> Green things and more green things, EC> Does anyone have the words to the Calontir Fighting Hamster song? I EC> can only remember one verse and the chorus (and probably not EC> correctly). EC> Please, please, pretty please with lots chocolate piled on top? Here you are friend, in its entirety THE HAMSTER SONG -Chrystofer Kensor & Andrixios Seljukroctonis (Tune: "Ballad of the Green Berets") Fighting hamsters from the sky Some will live and some will die Hamsters have nothing to fear The fighting hamsters of Calontir Silver tape upon their backs A broadsword is all they lack Fifty hamsters fight a war They won't win without fifty more Trained by jumping off a roof Trained in combat tooth to tooth Hamsters fight both far and near The fighting hamsters of Calontir Riding high upon our helms Their war cry it overwhelms All opponents become weak At their fearsome squeaky squeak Back at home Paval waits His fighting hamster has met its fate He has died while drinking beer The fighting hamsters of calontir Once again its off to war This time we number a dozen more We will fight for those in need so this year it's with Caid Fighting hamsters jump from planes Fighting hamsters fall like rain Some will live but most will die Stupid creatures cannot fly I hope you have fun with it........:) Finnian