1 Old Uncle Pengerric a Captain was, A dowser shrewd was he; Who feathered his nest from the keenly lode That ruined you and me. The Captain was traversing Brandy Moor, With hazel twig in hand, The hazel twisted and turned about And brought him to a stand. CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, the keenly lode Of bâlls the best, my boys; Old Uncle Pengerric very well know'd How to feather his nest, my boys. 2 Old Uncle Pengerric so big did brag Of ore in Brandy Bâll, "Come fork out your money my Christian friends, Your fortunes treble all." Now Uncle was reckoned a preacher stout, A burning and shining light. The people all said, "What he has in head Will surely turn out right." CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c. 3 The Company floated, the Shares up paid, The gold came flowing in. He set up a whim, and began to sink For the keenly lode of tin. He had not burrowed but five foot six 'Ere he came to a buried hoss. Said Uncle Pengerric, "No fault of mine, Tho't turn out some one's loss." CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c. 4 The shaft descended, but ne'er a grain Of ore was brought to ground. And presently Uncle Pengerric too, Was not in Cornwall found. But wherever he goes, and whenever he talks, He says:--"The rod told true, It brought to me luck, but it turn'd and struck At nought but an old horse-shoe." CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c. Note: A Keenly Lode is a Lode that promises well. A Bâll is the Cornish for a mine. No. 47 MAY-DAY CAROL C.J.S. [Music] 1 Awake, ye pretty maids, awake, Refreshed from drowsy dream, And haste to dairy house, and take For us a dish of cream. 2 If not a dish of yellow cream, Then give us kisses three; The woodland bower is white with flower, And green is every tree. 3 A branch of May we bear about Before the door it stands; There's not a sprout unbudded out, The work of God's own hands. 4 Awake, awake ye pretty maids, And take the May-bush in, Or 'twill be gone ere tomorrow morn, And you'll have none within. 5 Throughout the night, before the light, There fell the dew or rain, It twinkles bright on May bush white, It sparkles on the plain. 6 The heavenly gates are open wide To let escape the dew, And heavenly grace falls on each place It drops on us and you. 7 The life of man is but a span, He blossoms as a flower, He makes no stay, is here to-day, And vanish'd in an hour.[12] 8 My song is done, I must be gone, Nor make a longer stay. God bless you all, both great and small, And send you gladsome May.