‘A shippen full of rye for to fother,
A house full of goods, one mack or another;
I’ll thrash in the lathe while you sit spinning,
O, Molly, I think that’s a good beginning.’
‘I’ll not sit at my wheel a-spinning,
Or rise in the morn to wash your linen;
I’ll lie in bed till the clock strikes eleven—’
‘Oh, grant me patience gracious Heaven!
‘Why then thou must marry some red-nosed squire,
[Who’ll buy thee a settle to sit by the fire,]
For I’ll to Margery in the valley,
She is my girl, so farewell Malley.’
HARVEST-HOME SONG.
[Our copy of this song is taken from one in the Roxburgh Collection, where it is called, The Country Farmer’s vain glory; in a new song of Harvest Home, sung to a new tune much in request. Licensed according to order. The tune is published in Popular Music. A copy of this song, with the music, may be found in D’Urfey’s Pills to purge Melancholy. It varies from ours; but D’Urfey is so loose and inaccurate in his texts, that any other version is more likely to be correct. The broadside from which the following is copied was ‘Printed for P. Brooksby, J. Dencon [Deacon], J. Blai[r], and J. Back.’]
Our oats they are howed, and our barley’s reaped,
Our hay is mowed, and our hovels heaped;
Harvest home! harvest home!
We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home!
Harvest home! harvest home!
We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home!
We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home!
We cheated the parson, we’ll cheat him again;
For why should the vicar have one in ten?
One in ten! one in ten!
For why should the vicar have one in ten?
For why should the vicar have one in ten?
For staying while dinner is cold and hot,
And pudding and dumpling’s burnt to pot;
Burnt to pot! burnt to pot!
Till pudding and dumpling’s burnt to pot,
Burnt to pot! burnt to pot!
We’ll drink off the liquor while we can stand,
And hey for the honour of old England!
Old England! old England!
And hey for the honour of old England!
Old England! old England!
HARVEST-HOME.
[From an old copy without printer’s name or date.]