O! Barleycorn is the choicest grain That 'ere was sown on land It will do more than any grain, By the turning of your hand. With a Ri-fol &c. 10 It will make a boy into a man, A man into an ass; To silver it will change your gold, Your silver into brass. With a Ri-fol &c. 11 It will make the huntsman hunt the fox, That never wound a horn; It will bring the tinker to the stocks That people may him scorn. With a Ri-fol &c. 12 O! Barleycorn is th' choicest grain, That e'er was sown on land. And it will cause a man to drink Till he neither can go nor stand. With a Ri-fol &c. No. 15 SWEET NIGHTINGALE C.J.S. [Music] 1 My sweet-heart, come along. Don't you hear the fond song The sweet notes of the Nightingale flow? Don't you hear the fond tale, Of the sweet nightingale, As she sings in the valleys below? 2 Pretty Betty, don't fail, For I'll carry your pail Safe home to your cot as we go; You shall hear the fond tale Of the sweet nightingale, As she sings in the valleys below. 3 Pray let me alone, I have hands of my own, Along with you Sir, I'll not go, To hear the fond tale Of the sweet nightingale, As she sings in the valleys below. 4 Pray sit yourself down With me on the ground, On this bank where the primroses grow, You shall hear the fond tale Of the sweet nightingale, As she sings in the valleys below. 5 The couple agreed, And were married with speed, And soon to the church they did go; No more is she afraid For to walk in the shade, Nor sit in those valleys below. No. 16 WIDDECOMBE FAIR C.J.S. [Music] 1 "Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me your grey mare, All along, down along, out along, lee. For I want for to go to Widdecombe Fair, Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all," _CHORUS_: Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all. 2 "And when shall I see again my grey mare?" All along, &c. "By Friday soon, or Saturday noon, Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, &c." 3 Then Friday came, and Saturday noon, All along, &c. But Tom Pearce's old mare hath not trotted home, Wi' Bill Brewer, &c. 4 So Tom Pearce he got up to the top o' the hill All along, &c. And he seed his old mare down a making her will Wi' Bill Brewer, &c. 5 So Tom Pearce's old mare, her took sick and died. All along, &c. And Tom he sat down on a stone, and he cried Wi' Bill Brewer, &c. 6 But this isn't the end o' this shocking affair, All along, &c. Nor, though they be dead, of the horrid career Of Bill Brewer, &c. 7 When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night All along, &c. Tom Pearce's old mare doth appear, gashly white, Wi' Bill Brewer, &c. 8