CLERK. 'KISS THE HORN, SIR!'
You shall pledge no man first when a woman is near, For neither 'tis proper nor right, sir;Nor, unless you prefer it, drink small for strong beer, Nor eat brown bread when you can get white, sir.
CLERK. 'KISS THE HORN, SIR!'
You shall never drink brandy when wine you can get, Say when good port or sherry is handy;Unless that your taste on spirit is set, In which case - you MAY, sir, drink brandy!
CLERK. 'KISS THE HORN, SIR!'
To kiss with the maid when the mistress is kind, Remember that you must be loth, sir;But if the maid's fairest, your oath doesn't bind, -Or you may, if you like it, kiss both, sir!
CLERK. 'KISS THE HORN, SIR!'
Should you ever return, take this oath here again, Like a man of good sense, leal and true, sir;And be sure to bring with you some more merry men, That they on the horn may swear too, sir.
LANDLORD. Now, sir, if you please, sign your name in that book, and if you can't write, make your mark, and the clerk of the court will attest it.
HERE ONE OF THE ABOVE REQUESTS IS COMPLIED WITH.
LANDLORD. You will please pay half-a-crown for court fees, and what you please to the clerk.
THIS NECESSARY CEREMONY BEING GONE THROUGH, THE IMPORTANT BUSINESSTERMINATES BY THE LANDLORD SAYING, 'GOD BLESS THE KING [OR QUEEN]
AND THE LORD OF THE MANOR;' TO WHICH THE CLERK RESPONDS, 'AMEN, AMEN!'
N.B. THE COURT FEES ARE ALWAYS RETURNED IN WINES, SPIRITS, ORPORTER, OF WHICH THE LANDLORD AND CLERK ARE INVITED TO PARTAKE.
Ballad: FAIRLOP FAIR SONG.
[THE following song is sung at Fairlop fair, one of the gayest of the numerous saturnalia kept by the good citizens of London. The venerable oak has disappeared; but the song is nevertheless song, and the curious custom of riding through the fair, seated in boats, still continues to be observed.]
COME, come, my boys, with a hearty glee, To Fairlop fair, bear chorus with me;At Hainault forest is known very well, This famous oak has long bore the bell.
CHO. Let music sound as the boat goes round, If we tumble on the ground, we'll be merry, I'll be bound;We will booze it away, dull care we will defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July.
At Tainhall forest, Queen Anne she did ride, And beheld the beautiful oak by her side, And after viewing it from bottom to top, She said that her court should be at Fairlop.
It is eight fathom round, spreads an acre of ground, They plastered it round to keep the tree sound.
So we'll booze it away, dull care we'll defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July.
About a century ago, as I have heard say, This fair it was kept by one Daniel Day, A hearty good fellow as ever could be, His coffin was made of a limb of the tree.
With black-strap and perry he made his friends merry, All sorrow for to drown with brandy and sherry.
So we'll booze it away, dull care we'll defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July.
At Tainhall forest there stands a tree, And it has performed a wonderful bounty, It is surrounded by woods and plains, The merry little warblers chant their strains.
So we'll dance round the tree, and merry we will be, Every year we'll agree the fair for to see;And we'll booze it away, dull care we'll defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July.
Ballad: AS TOM WAS A-WALKING. AN ANCIENT CORNISH SONG.
[THIS song, said to be translated from the Cornish, 'was taken down,' says Mr. Sandys, 'from the recital of a modern Corypheus, or leader of a parish choir,' who assigned to it a very remote, but indefinite, antiquity.]
AS Tom was a-walking one fine summer's morn, When the dazies and goldcups the fields did adorn;He met Cozen Mal, with a tub on her head, Says Tom, 'Cozen Mal, you might speak if you we'd.'
But Mal stamped along, and appeared to be shy, And Tom singed out, 'Zounds! I'll knaw of thee why?'
So back he tore a'ter, in a terrible fuss, And axed cozen Mal, 'What's the reason of thus?'
'Tom Treloar,' cried out Mal, 'I'll nothing do wi' 'ee, Go to Fanny Trembaa, she do knaw how I'm shy;Tom, this here t'other daa, down the hill thee didst stap, And dab'd a great doat fig in Fan Trembaa's lap.'
'As for Fanny Trembaa, I ne'er taalked wi' her twice, And gived her a doat fig, they are so very nice;So I'll tell thee, I went to the fear t'other day, And the doat figs I boft, why I saved them away.'
Says Mal, 'Tom Treloar, ef that be the caase, May the Lord bless for ever that sweet pretty faace;Ef thee'st give me thy doat figs thee'st boft in the fear, I'll swear to thee now, thee shu'st marry me here.'
Ballad: THE MILLER AND HIS SONS.
[A MILLER, especially if he happen to be the owner of a soke-mill, has always been deemed fair game for the village satirist. Of the numerous songs written in ridicule of the calling of the 'rogues in grain,' the following is one of the best and most popular: its quaint humour will recommend it to our readers. For the tune, see POPULAR MUSIC.]
THERE was a crafty miller, and he Had lusty sons, one, two, and three:
He called them all, and asked their will, If that to them he left his mill.
He called first to his eldest son, Saying, 'My life is almost run;If I to you this mill do make, What toll do you intend to take?'
'Father,' said he, 'my name is Jack;
Out of a bushel I'll take a peck, From every bushel that I grind, That I may a good living find.'
'Thou art a fool!' the old man said, 'Thou hast not well learned thy trade;This mill to thee I ne'er will give, For by such toll no man can live.'
He called for his middlemost son, Saying, 'My life is almost run;If I to you this mill do make, What toll do you intend to take?'
'Father,' says he, 'my name is Ralph;
Out of a bushel I'll take a half, From every bushel that I grind, That I may a good living find.'
'Thou art a fool!' the old man said, 'Thou hast not well learned thy trade;This mill to thee I ne'er will give, For by such toll no man can live.'
He called for his youngest son, Saying, 'My life is almost run;If I to you this mill do make, What toll do you intend to take?'
'Father,' said he, 'I'm your only boy, For taking toll is all my joy!
Before I will a good living lack, I'll take it all, and forswear the sack!'
