The Bab Ballads, with Which Are Included Songs of a SavoyardGilbert, W. S. (William Schwenck)
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The Bab Ballads, with Which Are Included Songs of a Savoyard
Gilbert, W. S. (William Schwenck)
English wit and humor; Humorous poetry, English; Songs, English -- Texts
It's the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud,
Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud
At the moan of the merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sore, whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!
Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me--lackadaydee!
He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!
HE. I have a song to sing, O!
SHE. Sing me your song, O!
HE. It is sung to the knell
Of a churchyard bell,
And a doleful dirge, ding dong, O!
It's a song of a popinjay, bravely born,
Who turned up his noble nose with scorn
At the humble merrymaid, peerly proud,
Who loved that lord, and who laughed aloud
At the moan of the merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!
Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me--lackadaydee!
He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!
SHE. I have a song to sing, O!
HE. Sing me your song, O!
SHE. It is sung with a sigh
And a tear in the eye,
For it tells of a righted wrong, O!
It's a song of a merrymaid, once so gay,
Who turned on her heel and tripped away
From the peacock popinjay, bravely born,
Who turned up his noble nose with scorn
At the humble heart that he did not prize;
And it tells how she begged, with downcast eyes,
For the love of a merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!
BOTH. Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me--lackadaydee!
His pains were o'er, and he sighed no more,
For he lived in the love of a ladye!
[Illustration]
ELLEN M'JONES ABERDEEN
MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS M'CLAN
Was the son of an elderly labouring man,
You've guessed him a Scotchman, shrewd reader, at sight,
And p'raps altogether, shrewd reader, you're right.
From the bonnie blue Forth to the hills of Deeside,
Round by Dingwall and Wrath to the mouth of the Clyde.
There wasn't a child or a woman or man
Who could pipe with CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS M'CLAN.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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