  Andante. Perrette est bien malade, En danger de mourir. Presto. Son ami la va voire; Te laira' tu mourir? Andante. Non, non, rÉpondit-elle, Je ne veux pas mourir. Canadian Song. No. 30. |
| First voice.— | "Soldier, soldier, will you marry me, |
| With a knapsack, fife, and drum?" | |
| "Oh no, my pretty maiden, I cannot marry you, | |
| For I have no coat to put on." |
| Second voice.— | Then away she ran to the tailor's shop, |
| As fast as legs could run; | |
| And bought him one of the very best, | |
| And the soldier put it on. |
The question is then repeated, the soldier pleading his want of shoes gloves, etc., which the confiding fair procures, until at last—
With your knapsack, fife, and drum?"
"Oh no, my pretty maiden, I cannot marry you,
For I have—a good wife—at home!"
This piece and the following are more or less familiar as children's songs through the United States. Our version was sung by children of from five to eight years of age, and made a favorite amusement at the afternoon gatherings. When one couple had finished, another pair would begin, and so on for hours at a time. The object was to provide for the soldier the most varied wardrobe possible; while the maiden put the question with spirit, laying her hand on her heart, respecting which the prevailing opinion was that it was under the left arm.
No. 31.
Quaker Courtship.
In this piece, two children (in costume or otherwise) impersonate a Quaker paying his addresses to a young lady of the world.
Hum, hum, heigho hum!
'Tis for pleasure, not for sporting—
Hum, hum, heigho hum!"
Teedle link tum, teedle tum a tee;
You may sit and court the fire,
Teedle link tum, teedle tum a tee."
Thou may'st have it if thou art willing."
I'll have a man who will call me honey."
Madam, I know thy heart is tender."
And I never loved a Quaker."
Must I be a Presbyterian?"
If you can't catch one fish, catch another."
Hartford, Conn.
No. 32.
Lazy Mary.
A mother and daughter in the centre of a ring, the daughter kneeling with closed eyes. Mother advances—
Will you get up, will you get up,
Will you get up to-day?"
If I get up, if I get up,
If I get up to-day?"
The reply is, "A slice of bread and a cup of tea," whereon Mary answers, "No, mother, I won't get up," and responds similarly to the call to dinner; but for supper the mother offers "a nice young man with rosy cheeks," which is accepted with the words, "Yes, mother, I will get up," whereon the ring clap their hands. The round is familiar in New York streets. There is a corresponding English song, with a tragic ending.
No. 33.
Whistle, Daughter, Whistle.
| "Whistle, daughter, whistle, | |
| And I'll give you a sheep." | |
| [After an interval.] | "Mother, I'm asleep." |
| "Whistle, daughter, whistle, | |
| And I'll give you a cow." | |
| [A faint attempt.] | "Mother, I don't know how." |
| "Whistle, daughter, whistle, | |
| And I'll give you a man." | |
| [A loud and clear whistle.] | "Mother, now I can!" |
New York.
The subject of this and the preceding number has furnished endless mirth to popular poetry. The present song is ancient; for it is identical with a German, Flemish, and French round of the fifteenth or sixteenth century, in which a nun (or monk) is tempted to dance by similar offers. The spirit of the latter piece seems to be rather light-hearted ridicule than puritanic satire, and the allusion does not show that the piece is subsequent to the Reformation.
No. 34.
There were Three Jolly Welshmen.
And I have heard them say,
That they would go a-hunting
Upon St. David's day—
Look—a—there—now!
And nothing could they find,
But a woman in the road,
And her they left behind—
Look—a—there—now!
The other said nay;
One said it was an angel
With the wings blowed away—
Look—a—there—now!
We have obtained only three verses of the song, which was a favorite with little children as they sat on the door-step of a summer's evening. Another version of the ancient jest comes to us as sung by college students:
(Slow and mournful, in C minor.)
To see what they could see,
And soon they saw a frog
A-sitting under a tree.
(Recit.) So—they—did.
But the other said nay—
One said it was a canary-bird
With the feathers blown away.
(Recit.) So—it—was.
To see what they could see,
And soon they saw a barn
A-standing by a tree.
But the other said nay,
One said it was a meeting-house
With the steeple blown away.
To see what they could see,
And soon they saw an owl,
A-sitting on a tree.
But the other said nay,
One said it was the Evil One!
And they all ran away.
No. 35.
A Hallowe'en Rhyme.
A ROUND.
Your true love will come by-and-by.
That's a sign she's to be seen.
That's a sign she'll cry all night.
That's a sign that she's away.
That's a sign she'll marry you.
New York.
A variation:
For your true love will come by'm-bye;
When he comes he'll dress in blue—
Then he'll bring you, something new.
Massachusetts.
These corrupt rhymes are only interesting as illustrating the permanence of Hallowe'en customs, even in America. The Scotch rhyme of Chambers goes—
To see the thing I ne'er saw yet—
To see my love in his array,
And what he walks in every day;
And what his occupation be,
This night I in my sleep may see.
And if my love be clad in green,
His love for me is well seen;
And if my love be clad in gray,
His love for me is far away;
But if my love be clad in blue,
His love for me is very true.
After repeating these words, the girl puts her knotted garter beneath her pillow, and sleeps on it, when her future husband will appear to her in a dream.
No. 36.
The Doctor's Prescription.
A ROUND.
What will make poor —— well?
She is sick and like to die,
And that will make poor —— cry.
A kiss was the prescription.
We insert this silly little round, chiefly because, according to Madame Celnart, a French equivalent was in favor, not with infants, but ladies and gentlemen in polite society, only half a century since. Our authority says:
"The master or the mistress of this round is called doctor. This doctor takes the arm of the person seated on his right, regards him or her with an eye of compassion, feels his pulse, and then gives his order, which everybody repeats, singing, 'Give me your arm that I may cure you, for you seem to me to look ill.'
The general theme of our vulgarized round is more agreeably expressed in the quaint and ancient Canadian song which we have cited as the motto of the present chapter.
No. 37.
Old Grimes.
In his grave, in his grave, in his grave laid—
O aye O!
The apples were ripe and ready to fall—
Then came an old woman a-picking them up—
Old Grimes got up and gave her a kick—
And made her go hobbledy, hobbledy, hip—
The bridles and saddles they hang on the shelf—
And if you want any more you must sing it yourself—
O aye O!
New York streets.
A friend informs us that he has often heard the words of this unintelligible round sung as a "shanty," or song used by sailors at their work, with the chorus, yeo heave-ho! In Cambridge, Mass., the name of the deceased was "Old Cromwell." We have also a version of half a century since, beginning,
Jemmy fell sick among them all.
No. 38.
The Baptist Game.
Such is the peculiar title of this amusement in Virginia, where it is said to be enjoyed by pious people who will not dance. There is a row of couples, with an odd player at the head. At the sudden close of the song occurs a grand rush and change of partners.
And sow your wild oats in your youthful days;
You shall be happy,
You shall be happy,
When you grow old.
So give us your arm, and we'll jog along,
You shall be happy,
You shall be happy,
When you grow old.
Albemarle Co., Va.
This game, with verbal identity (save the title), was a few years since an amusement of well-bred girls in New York city. It has also been familiar in Massachusetts, with the exception of one line—
No. 39.
Trials, Troubles, and Tribulations.
All participating are blindfolded, and, joining hands, march forward, singing—
Trials, troubles, and tribulation.
The fun consists in bringing up against a door, or in causing a general downfall by tripping over some obstacle.
New York.
No. 40.
Happy is the Miller.
An odd number of players, of whom the one not paired stands in the centre of the ring. The others march in couples, each consisting of a girl and a boy, till the sudden end of the song, when each boy grasps the girl in front of him.
Western New York.
Another version:
While the mill goes round, he works with a will;
One hand in the hopper, and one in the bag,
The mill goes around, and he cries out, Grab!
Cincinnati.
The miller, whose pay used to be taken in a proportion of corn ground, was a common object of popular satire.
In Germany the mill-wheel, as it slowly revolves, is said to exclaim—
Then, moving more quickly—
And at last answers very fast, and without pausing—
"Round and Round, the Mill Goes Round," is mentioned as an English dance at the end of the seventeenth century. A song of "The Happy Miller" is printed in "Pills to Purge Melancholy" (1707), of which the first verse is—
That depends on his own, not on Fortune's wheel;
By the sleight of his hand, and the strength of his back,
How merrily his mill goes, clack, clack, clack!
This song was doubtless founded on the popular game; but the modern children's sport has preserved the idea, if not the elegance, of the old dance better than the printed words of a hundred and seventy years since. A variation of the same game is still familiar in Canada and Sweden.
No. 41.
The Miller of Gosport.
That the prejudice against the honesty of the miller was not confined to the Old World will appear from the following ballad:
He had three sons whom he loved full well;
He called them to him, one—by—one,
Saying, "My—life—is—al—most—done!"
Saying, "My life is almost done,
And if I to you the mill shall make,
And aout of each bushel I'll take one peck—
Of every bushel—that—I—grind,
I'll take one peck to ease my mind."
"Thou hasn't but one half larnt thy trade!
The mill to you I'll never give,
For by such toll no man can thrive."
Saying, "My life is almost done,
And if I to you the mill shall make,
Pray, say what toll you mean to take?"
And aout of each bushel I'll take one half—
Of every bushel that I grind,
I'll take one half to ease my mind."
"Thou hasn't but one half larnt thy trade;
The mill to you I'll never give,
For by such toll no man can thrive."
Saying, "My life is almost done;
And if I to you the mill shall make,
Pray, say what toll you mean to take?"
And in taking of toll shall be all my joy;
That an honest living I ne'er may lack,
I'll take the whole, and steal the sack."
"Thou'st larnt thy good—old—fayther's trade;
The mill to you I do—betide"—
And—so—he—closed—his eyes—and—died.
Another version finds its way to us from the West, and ends with an uncomplimentary opinion as to the habitation of the miller in the other world.
FOOTNOTES:
Car tu m'as l'air malade,
Loula,
Car tu m'as l'air malade!
