[This is a very old ditty, and a favourite with the peasantry in every part of England; but more particularly in the mining districts of the North. The tune is pleasing, but uncommon. R. W. Dixon, Esq., of Seaton-Carew, Durham, by whom the song was communicated to his brother for publication, says, 'I have written down the above, verbatim, as generally sung. It will be seen that the last lines of each verse are not of equal length. The singer, however, makes all right and smooth! The words underlined p. 230in each verse are sung five times, thus:—They ad-van-cèd, they ad-van-cèd, they ad-van-cèd, they ad-van-cèd, they ad-van-cèd me some money,—ten guineas and a crown. The last line is thus sung:—We'll be married, (as the word is usually pronounced), We'll be married, we'll be married, we'll be married, we'll be married, we'll be mar-ri-èd when I return again.' The tune is given in Popular Music. Since this song appeared in the volume issued by the Percy Society, we have met with a copy printed at Devonport. The readings are in general not so good; but in one or two instances they are apparently more ancient, and are, consequently, here adopted. The Devonport copy contains two verses, not preserved in our traditional version. These we have incorporated in our present text, in which they form the third and last stanzas.]
It was one summer's morning, as I went o'er the moss,
I had no thought of 'listing, till the soldiers did me cross;
They kindly did invite me to a flowing bowl, and down,
They advancèd me some money,—ten guineas and a crown.
'It's true my love has listed, he wears a white cockade,
He is a handsome tall young man, besides a roving blade;
He is a handsome young man, and he's gone to serve the king,
Oh! my very heart is breaking for the loss of him.
'My love is tall and handsome, and comely for to see,
And by a sad misfortune a soldier now is he;
I hope the man that listed him may not prosper night nor day,
For I wish that the Hollànders may sink him in the sea.
'Oh! may he never prosper, oh! may he never thrive,
Nor anything he takes in hand so long as he's alive;
May the very grass he treads upon the ground refuse to grow,
Since he's been the only cause of my sorrow, grief, and woe!'
Then he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her flowing eyes,—
'Leave off those lamentations, likewise those mournful cries;
Leave of your grief and sorrow, while I march o'er the plain,
We'll be married when I return again.'
'O now my love has listed, and I for him will rove,
I'll write his name on every tree that grows in yonder grove,
Where the huntsman he does hollow, and the hounds do sweetly cry,
To remind me of my ploughboy until the day I die.'
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