The Cock Is Crowing- Butcher (Derry) 1969 Shields
[From: Shamrock, Rose and Thistle: Folk Singing in North Derry by Hugh Shields. ITMA Reference Number: 813-ITMA-MP3; Hugh Shields Collection HS 6905.
R. Matteson 2016]
The Cock Is Crowing- sung by John Butcher, Sr. Recorded in 1969 at Drumavally, Magilligan, The house of John Butcher senior, Drumavally, Magilligan, Co Derry.
Listen: http://www.itma.ie/inishowen/song/cocks_is_crowing_john_butcher_senior
1. Oh the cock is crowing, daylight's appearing,
It's drawing nigh to the break of day,
-Arise my charmer, out of your slumber,
And listen to what your true-love says.
2. He walk-ed to his true love's window,
He kneel-ed low down upon a stone,
And through a pane he did whisper slowly,
-Arise my darling and let me in.
3. -O, who is that, that is at my window,
Or who is that, that knows me so well?
It's I, it's I, a poor wounded lover,
Who fain would talk, love, to you awhile.
4. Well go away love and ask your daddy,
If he'll allow you my bride to be,
If he says no, return and tell me,
For this is the last night I'll trouble you.
5. Well my dada is in his bed chamber,
He's fast asleep in his bed of ease,
But in his pocket there lies a letter,
Which read-es far, love, to your dispraise.
6. Oh, what dispraise can he give unto me?
A faithful husband to you I'll be,
And what all the neighbors has 'round their houses,
The same, my darling, you'll have with me.
7. Well go away love and ask your mammy,
If she'll allow you my bride to be,
If she says no, return and tell me,
For this is the last night I'll trouble you.
8. Well my mama is an old-age person,
She scarce could hear me, one word I say,
But she says, love, you go court some other,
For I'm not fitting, love, your bride to be.
9. Well I may go but I'll court no other,
My heart's still link-ed to all on your charms,
I would have you wed, love and leave your mammy,
For you're just fit to lie in your true-love's arms.
10. Now Kellybawn it is mine in chorus (sic),
And the green fields they are mine in white,
And if my pen was made of the temper steel,
Sure my true-loves praises I could never write.
11. But I'll go off to the wild mountains,
Where I'll see nothing but the wild deers,
Nor I'll eat nothing but the wild herbs,
Nor I'll drink nothing but my true-love's (spoken) tears.