The Alehouse- Henry Way (Dors) 1906 Hammomd
[Fragmented version from Henry Hammond Manuscript Collection (HAM/3/18/27). Notebook D. VI p. 26. Some of the core stanzas with the rare "She's like a swallow" stanza.
R. Matteson 2017]
"The Alehouse." Sung by Henry Way of Stoke Abbott, Dorset in May 1906. Collected by H.E.D. Hammond.
Oh, once wore my apron low,
My love followed me through frost and snow;
But now my belly's got up to my chin,
My love passes by and says nothing.
There is an alehouse in yonder town,
Where my false lover goes, sits him down,
He takes a strange lass on his knee,
And don't you think that's a grief to me?
It's a grief to me, I'll tell you why[1],
[Because she has more gold than I ;
Her gold will waste, her beauty blast,
Poor girl, she'll come like me at last.]
Then on the meadow poor girl she run,
A-picking the flowers so fast as they sprung;
And some she picked, and some she plucked
Till at last she gathered her apron full.
She made her bed with flowers so sweet,
And a stony pillow laid under her head
And laid herself down and nevermore spoke,
Until he tender heart ; it was broke.
I'm glad, I'm glad, I'm glad," said he,
"To think she was so fond of me."
She's like the swallow that flies so high,
She's like the river that never runs dry.
She's like the sun that's on the sea shore,
I've losed my lover and I'll love no more[2].
1. One line given. The text finishing measure from Kidson 1991
2. Standard "She loves her love but she'll love no more."