TOBACCO'S but an Indian weed, Grows green in the morn, cut down at eve;It shows our decay, We are but clay;
Think of this when you smoke tobacco!
The pipe that is so lily white, Wherein so many take delight, It's broken with a touch, -Man's life is such;
Think of this when you take tobacco!
The pipe that is so foul within, It shows man's soul is stained with sin;It doth require To be purred with fire;
Think of this when you smoke tobacco!
The dust that from the pipe doth fall, It shows we are nothing but dust at all;For we came from the dust, And return we must;Think of this when you smoke tobacco!
The ashes that are left behind, Do serve to put us all in mind That unto dust Return we must;Think of this when you take tobacco!
The smoke that does so high ascend, Shows that man's life must have an end;The vapour's gone, -
Man's life is done;
Think of this when you take tobacco!
Ballad: THE SPANISH LADIES.
[THIS song is ancient, but we have no means of ascertaining at what period it was written. Captain Marryat, in his novel of POOR JACK, introduces it, and says it is OLD. It is a general favourite. The air is plaintive, and in the minor key. See POPULAR MUSIC.]
FAREWELL, and adieu to you Spanish ladies, Farewell, and adieu to you ladies of Spain!
For we've received orders for to sail for old England, But we hope in a short time to see you again.
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British heroes, We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas, Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England;From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.
Then we hove our ship to, with the wind at sou'-west, boys, We hove our ship to, for to strike soundings clear;We got soundings in ninety-five fathom, and boldly Up the channel of old England our course we did steer.
The first land we made it was called the Deadman, Next, Ram'shead off Plymouth, Start, Portland, and Wight;We passed by Beachy, by Fairleigh, and Dungeness, And hove our ship to, off the South Foreland light.
Then a signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor All in the Downs, that night for to sleep;Then stand by your stoppers, let go your shank-painters, Haul all your clew-garnets, stick out tacks and sheets.
So let every man toss off a full bumper, Let every man toss off his full bowls;We'll drink and be jolly, and drown melancholy, So here's a good health to all true-hearted souls!
Ballad: HARRY THE TAILOR. (TRADITIONAL.)[THE following song was taken down some years ago from the recitation of a country curate, who said he had learned it from a very old inhabitant of Methley, near Pontefract, Yorkshire. We have never seen it in print.]
WHEN Harry the tailor was twenty years old, He began for to look with courage so bold;He told his old mother he was not in jest, But he would have a wife as well as the rest.
Then Harry next morning, before it was day, To the house of his fair maid took his way.
He found his dear Dolly a making of cheese, Says he, 'You must give me a buss, if you please!'
She up with the bowl, the butter-milk flew, And Harry the tailor looked wonderful blue.
'O, Dolly, my dear, what hast thou done?
From my back to my breeks has thy butter-milk run.'
She gave him a push, he stumbled and fell Down from the dairy into the drawwell.
Then Harry, the ploughboy, ran amain, And soon brought him up in the bucket again.
Then Harry went home like a drowned rat, And told his old mother what he had been at.
With butter-milk, bowl, and a terrible fall, O, if this be called love, may the devil take all!
Ballad: SIR ARTHUR AND CHARMING MOLLEE. (TRADITIONAL.)[FOR this old Northumbrian song we are indebted to Mr. Robert Chambers. It was taken down from the recitation of a lady. The 'Sir Arthur' is no less a personage than Sir Arthur Haslerigg, the Governor of Tynemouth Castle during the Protectorate of Cromwell.]
AS noble Sir Arthur one morning did ride, With his hounds at his feet, and his sword by his side, He saw a fair maid sitting under a tree, He asked her name, and she said 'twas Mollee.
'Oh, charming Mollee, you my butler shall be, To draw the red wine for yourself and for me!
I'll make you a lady so high in degree, If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!
'I'll give you fine ribbons, I'll give you fine rings, I'll give you fine jewels, and many fine things;I'll give you a petticoat flounced to the knee, If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!'
'I'll have none of your ribbons, and none of your rings, None of your jewels, and other fine things;And I've got a petticoat suits my degree, And I'll ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.'
'Oh, charming Mollee, lend me then your penknife, And I will go home, and I'll kill my own wife;I'll kill my own wife, and my bairnies three, If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!'
'Oh, noble Sir Arthur, it must not be so, Go home to your wife, and let nobody know;For seven long years I will wait upon thee, But I'll ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.'
Now seven long years are gone and are past, The old woman went to her long home at last;The old woman died, and Sir Arthur was free, And he soon came a-courting to charming Mollee.
Now charming Mollee in her carriage doth ride, With her hounds at her feet, and her lord by her side:
Now all ye fair maids take a warning by me, And ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.
Ballad: THERE WAS AN OLD MAN CAME OVER THE LEA.
[THIS is a version of the BAILLIE OF BERWICK, which will be found in the LOCAL HISTORIAN'S TABLE-BOOK. It was originally obtained from Morpeth, and communicated by W. H. Longstaffe, Esq., of Darlington, who says, 'in many respects the BAILLIE OF BERWICK is the better edition - still mine may furnish an extra stanza or two, and the ha! ha! ha! is better than heigho, though the notes suit either version.']
THERE was an old man came over the Lea, Ha-ha-ha-ha! but I won't have him. He came over the Lea, A-courting to me, With his grey beard newly-shaven.
My mother she bid me open the door:
I opened the door, And he fell on the floor.
My mother she bid me set him a stool:
I set him a stool, And he looked like a fool.
My mother she bid me give him some beer:
