The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland (Vol 2 of 2): With Tunes, Singing-Rhymes, and Methods of Playing etc.Gomme, Alice Bertha
General
The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland (Vol 2 of 2): With Tunes, Singing-Rhymes, and Methods of Playing etc.
Gomme, Alice Bertha
Folklore -- Great Britain; Games -- Great Britain
—Cullen and Nairn (Rev. W. Gregor).
XXVII. She can skip, she can dance,
She can ding us all o’er.
—Aberdeen (Rev. W. Gregor).
XXVIII. Green, green grovers, growing up so high,
We are all maidens,
And we must all die;
Except ——, the youngest of us all,
She can dance, and she can sing,
She can dance the Hieland fling;
Fie! fie! fie, for shame!
Turn your back to us again.
—Nairn (Rev. W. Gregor).
XXIX. Water, water, well stones,
Growing up so high,
We are all maidens,
And we must all die.
Except ——,
She’s the youngest of us all,
She can dance, she can sing,
She can dance the "Hielan’ Fling,"[14]
Oh fie, fie, for shame,
Turn your back to us again.
—Dyke (Rev. W. Gregor).
XXX. Here’s a pot of wall-flowers,
Growing up so high;
We’re all maidens, and we shall die.
Excepting [girl’s name],
She can hop, and she can skip,
And she can play the organ.
Turn your back, you saucy Jack,
You tore your mother’s gown.
—Northants (Rev. W. Sweeting).
XXXI. Wall-flowers, wall-flowers, growin’ up so high,
Neither me nor my baby shall ever wish to die,
Especially [girl’s name], she’s the prettiest flower.
She can dance, and she can sing, and she can tell the hour,
With her wee-waw, wy-waw, turn her face to the wall.
—Howth, Dublin (Miss H. E. Harvey).
Or,
Turn your back to all the game.
—Bonmahon, Waterford (Miss H. E. Harvey).
XXXII. Sally, Sally, wall-flower [or Waters],
Springing up so high,
We’re all fair maids,
And we shall all die.
Excepting [girl’s name],
She’s the fairest daughter,
She can hop, and she can skip,
She can turn the organ.
Turn your face toward the wall,
And tell me who your sweetheart’s called.
Mr. Moffit is a very good man,
He came to the door with his hat in his hand,
He pulled up his cloak, and showed me the ring;
To-morrow, to-morrow, the wedding begins.
First he bought the frying-pan,
Then he bought the cradle,
And then one day the baby was born,
Rock, rock the cradle.
—Hurstmonceux, Sussex (Miss Chase).
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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