A Shepherd ſat him under a Thorn he pulled out his pipe and began for to play It was on a Mid-Summer’s-day in the Morn for honour of that Holy-day: A Ditty he did chant along goes to the tune of Cater-Bordee, And this was the burden of his ſong if thou wilt pipe lad, I’ll Dance to thee To thee, to thee, derry, derry, to thee, &c.
The Haymakers’ song given below is, or rather was, a great favourite at festive gatherings during the hay harvest:—
In the merry month of June, In the prime time of the year; Down in yonder meadows There runs a river clear; And many a little fish Doth in that river play; And many a lad and many a lass, Go abroad a-making hay.
In come the jolly mowers, To mow the meadows down; With budget and with bottle Of ale both stout and brown. All labouring men of courage bold Come here their strength to try; They sweat and blow, and cut and mow, For the grass cuts very dry.
Gratitude to the Giver of all good things has been the mainspring of rejoicings that in nearly all nations have celebrated the safe {253} ingathering of the fruits of the earth. In England the festival is known by the expressive title of the Harvest Home. An ancient ballad expresses The Farmer’s Delight in the Merry Harvest:—
Come all my Lads and Lasses Let us together go, To the pleasant Corn-field, Our courage for to show, With sickle and with knapsack, So well we clean our Land, The Farmer crys work on Boys Here’s Beer at your command. In a good old Leather Bottle, Of ale that is so brown, We’ll cut and strip together, Until the Sun goes down; Every morning Sun, The small Birds they do sing; The Echoes of their Harmony, Do make the Wood to ring. Young Nanny she came to me, Some wheat-seed for to lase.[57] She is a pretty Creature, I must speak in her Praise: I wish she was some keeper, She is my whole delight In the Groves and Forests, To range both Day and Night. Thus the industrious Farmer By the Sweat of his Brow He labours and endeavours To make his Barley Mow. Sir John produces Liquor, ’Tis very often said, Good Beer makes Good Blood Good Blood makes pretty maid. {254} When Harvest it is over And the Corn secure from Harm And for to go to Market, We must thrash in the Barn. The Flail which we do handle So stoutly we do swing, And after Harvest Supper, So merry we will sing: With good Success to the Farmer, Or else we are to blame, I wish them Health and Happiness, Till Harvest comes again.
Beer has always been the drink in the harvest field.
Beneath some shelt’ring heap of yellow corn Rests the hoop’d keg, and friendly cooling horn, That mocks alike the goblet’s brittle frame, It’s costlier potions, and its nobler name. To Mary first the brimming draught is given, By toil made welcome as the dews of heaven, And never lip that press’d its homely edge, Had kinder blessings or a heartier pledge.
[57] To lase or lease, provincial term for “to glean.”