Sir Henry- Fitzgerald (VA) 1918 Sharp I
[My title replacing Sharp's generic title. From English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians, I, 1932 (Sharp/Karpeles). Notes from the 1932 edition follow. Additional text from Sharp's MS by Bronson 1962.
R. Matteson 2014]
Notes from the 1932 Edition: No. 18. Young Hunting.
Texts without tunes: — Child's English and Scottish Popular Ballads, No. 68. Cox's Folk Songs of the South, p. 42 (see also further references). Journal of American Folk-Lore, XX. 252.
Texts with tunes: — Child, v. 416. Reed Smith's South Carolina Ballads, p. 107. Journal of American Folk-Lore, xviii. 295 (tune only); XXX. 289. British Ballads from Maine, p. 122. Davis's Traditional Ballads of Virginia, pp. 182 and 566. Sandburg's American Songbag, p. 64.
Compare And you shall have the cheers of the cheer cold girl' of D. 4 with 'Ye shall hae cheer, an charcoal clear' in Child's version K 4. Tune H, with text of version G, is published with pianoforte accompaniment in Folk Songs of English Origin, 1st Series.
I. Sir Henry. Sung by Mr. CLINTON FITZGERALD at Royal Orchard, Afton, Va., April 28, 1918
Hexatonic (no 4th).
1. Last night, last night Lady Margret lay asleep,
sleeping, O so sound.
She heard the sound of a bugle horn
Which made her whole heart bound.
2. She thought it was her brother Willie
Returning home from town,
But no, it was Sir Henry
Returning from his wild hunting.
3. Light off, light off, Sir Henry, she said,
And stay all night with me.'
And the very best lodging that I have here
I'll give it unto thee.
4. I can't get off, nor I won't get off
And stay all night with thee;
Now the pretty gay lady in the merry green land
I love far better than thee.
5. And stooping over his left shoulder,
Kisses she give him three,
Then holding a knife with right hand,
She wounded him fully.
6. Some took him by his curlv hair
Some took him by his hands and feet;
And they threw him into the deep sea,
Which was so cold and deep.
7. Lie there, lie there, Sir Henry, she said,
Till the flesh rots off of your bones,
Till the pretty gay lady in the merry green lands
Shall mourn for you, return.
8. Then calling up her servant maid,
Saying, Tell no tales on me,
. . . .
. . . .
9. Then calling up her pretty parrot
Saying: Tell no tales on me;
And your cage shall be lined with yellow gold
And hung in the willow tree.
10 . I won't shut up and I can't shut up
And tell no tales on you.
O now you have murdered your own true love
And want to murder me.