She is then carried off to be buried, the lover and the rest weeping. Sometimes she revives (to their great joy), and sometimes not,ad libitum—that is, as Janet herself chooses.
A south-country version (Dr. Chambers tells) differs a little, and represents Janet as "at the Well," instead of upstairs, and afterwards "at the Mill," and so on. A Glasgow edition gives the whole in good west-country prose, and the lover begins: "I'm come to court your dochter, Kate Mackleister!"
In the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, "Janet Jo" used to be a dramatic entertainment amongst young rustics. Suppose a party have met on a winter evening round a good peat fire, writes Chambers, and is resolved to have "Janet Jo" performed. Two undertake to personate a goodman and a goodwife; the rest a family of marriageable daughters. One of the lads—the best singer of the party—retires, and equips himself in a dress proper for representing an old bachelor in search of a wife. He comes in, bonnet in hand, bowing, and sings:—
Gude e'en to ye, maidens a',Maidens a', maidens a';Gude e'en to ye, maidens a',Be ye or no.I've come to court Janet jo,Janet jo, Janet jo;I've come to court Janet jo,Janet, my jo.
Gudewife sings:—
What'll ye gie for Janet jo,Janet jo, Janet jo;What'll ye gie for Janet jo,Janet, my jo?
The wooer replies:—
I'll gie ye a peck o' siller,A peck o' siller, peck o' siller;I'll gie ye a peck o' sillerFor Janet, my jo.
Gudewife exclaims, "Gae awa', ye auld carle!" then sings:—
Ye'se never get Janet jo,Janet jo, Janet jo;Ye'se never get Janet jo,Janet, my jo.
The wooer hereupon retires, singing a verse expressive of mortification, but soon re-enters with a re-assured air, singing:—
I'll gie ye a peck o' gowd,A peck o' gowd, peck o' gowd;I'll gie ye a peck o' gowd,For Janet, my jo.
The matron gives him a rebuff as before, and he again enters, singing an offer of "twa pecks o' gowd," which, however, is also refused. At his next entry he offers "three pecks o' gowd," at which the gudewife brightens up, and sings:—
Come ben beside Janet Jo,Janet jo, Janet jo;Ye're welcome to Janet jo,Janet, my jo.
The suitor then advances gaily to his sweetheart, and the affair ends in a scramble for kisses.
"The Goloshans." This is a Hogmanay play, and not confined to children alone, which for that, as well as other reasons, will not inaptly close this chapter. In some parts it was called "The Galatians," to be sure, I saywas, because one never sees it now-a-days, though fifty years ago, under the one designation or the other, it was played annually by the Hogmanay guizards, who, dressed for the occasion, set it forth with deliciously unsophisticated swagger and bluster in every house they visited that had a kitchen floor broad and wide enough for the operation. It formed the material of a chap-book which was regularly on sale at the "Johnnie-a'-thing" shops in the middle of last century, though now, I suppose, a copy could scarcely be had for love or money. Sir Walter Scott, who delighted to keep up old customs, and could condescend to simple things without losing genuine dignity, invariably had a set of guizards to perform the play before his family both at Ashestiel and at Abbotsford. Thedramatis personæof "The Goloshans," after the character in the title-role—who was inevitable on all occasions—differed somewhat in the various districts. Chambers gives a fairly adequate version in hisPopular Rhymes of Scotland;but the fullest and best I have seen is contained inProverbs and Proverbial Expressions, edited by "Andrew Cheviot," and recently published by Mr. Alexander Gardner, of Paisley, and which I take the liberty of quoting mainly, though part also is taken from Chambers's version. The characters are Sir Alexander; Farmer's Son; Goloshan; Wallace; Dr. Brown; and Beelzebub.
Enter Sir Alexander, and speaks:—
Haud away rocks, and haud away reels,Haud away stocks and spinning-wheels;Redd room for Gorland, and gie us room to sing,And I will show you the prettiest thingThat ever was seen in Christmas time.Muckle-head and Little-wit stand ahint the door:But sic a set as we are ne'er were seen before.
Enter next Farmer's Son:—
Here come I, the farmer's son,Although I be but young sir,I've got a spirit brave.And I'll freely risk my life,My country for to save.
Goloshan appears:—
Here come I, Goloshan—Goloshan is my name,With sword and pistol by my side, I hope to win the game.
Farmer's Son:—
The game, sir, the game, sir! it is not in your power,I'll cut you into inches in less than half-an-hour.My head is made of iron, my heart is made of steel,My sword is a Ferrara that can do its duty weel.
Goloshan:—
My body is like rock, sir, my head is like a stone,And I will be Goloshan when you are dead and gone.
Enter Wallace:—
Here come I, Sir William Wallace, wight,Who shed his blood for Scotland's right;Without a right, without a reason,Here I draw my bloody weapon.(Fights with Goloshan—the latter falls.)
Farmer's Son:—
Now that young man is dead, sir, and on the ground is laid;And you shall suffer for it, I'm very much afraid.
Wallace:—
It was not me that did the deed, nor me that did the crime,'Twas this young man behind me who drew his sword so fine.
Sir Alexander:—
Oh, you artful villain, to lay the blame on me!For my two eyes were shut, sir, when this young man did dee.
Wallace:—
How could your eyes be shut, sir, when you were looking on?How could your eyes be shut, sir, when both the swords were drawn?
Farmer's Son (to Wallace):—
How can you thus deny the deed? As I stood looking on,You drew your sword from out its sheath, and slashed his body down.
Wallace:—
If I have slain Goloshan, Goloshan I will cure,And I will make him rise and sing in less than half-an-hour;Round the kitchen, round the town,Haste and bring me Dr. Brown.
Dr. Brown enters:—
Here come I, old Dr. Brown, the foremost doctor in the town.
Wallace:—
What makes you so good, sir?
Doctor:—
Why, my travels.
Wallace:—
And where have you travelled?
Doctor:—
From Hickerty-pickerty-hedgehog, three times round the West Indies, and back to old Scotland.
Wallace:—
Is that all?
Doctor:—
No sir. I have travelled from fireside to chairside, from chairside to stoolside, from stoolside to tableside, from tableside to bedside, from bedside to press-side, and got many a lump of bread and butter from my mother; and that's the way my belly's so big.
Wallace:—
Well, what can you cure?
Doctor:—
I can cure the rurvy-scurvy, and the rumble-gumption of a man who has been seven years dead or more, and can make an old woman of sixty look like a girl of sixteen.
Wallace:—
How much would you take to cure this dead man? Would five pounds do?
Doctor (turning away):—
Five pounds! No, five pounds would not get a good kit of brose.
Wallace:—
Would ten pounds do?
Doctor:—
Yes, perhaps ten pounds would do—that, and a pint of wine. I have a bottle of inky-pinkie in my pocket. (Approaches Goloshan.) By the hocus-pocus and the magical touch of my little finger; heigh ho! start up, Jack, and sing!
Goloshan (rises and sings):—
Oh, once I was dead, sir, but now I am alive,And blessed be the doctor that made me revive;We'll all join hands, and never fight no more,We'll all be good fellows, as we have been before.
All four:—
We'll all shake hands and agree, and never fight no more,We'll all be like brothers, as we were once before;God bless the master of this house, the mistress fair likewise,And all the pretty children that round the table rise.Go down into your cellar and see what you can find,Your barrels being not empty, we hope you will prove kind;We hope you will prove kind, with whisky and with beer,We wish you a Merry Christmas, likewise a good New Year.
Enter Beelzebub (for the collection):—
Here come I, Old Beelzebub, over my shoulder I carry a club,And in my hand a frying-pan. Am not I a jolly old man?It's money I want, and money I crave,If ye don't give me money I'll sweep ye to your grave.
Old Beelzebub's appeal not being resisted (for who might dare to resist such?), the picturesque players retire, and proceed from thence merrily to occupy another stage.
Mr. Sandys, it may be noted, in his elegant volume ofChristmas Carols(1833), transcribes a play called "St. George," which still is, or used to be, acted at the New Year in Cornwall, exactly after the manner of our Scottish play of "Goloshan" which it resembles as much as various versions of "Goloshan" in Scotland resemble each other. The leading characters, besides St. George himself and the Dragon, which is twice killed, are a Turkish knight and the King of Egypt. It is curious thus, as Dr. Chambers remarks, to find one play, with unimportant variations, preserved traditionally by the common people in parts of the island so distant from each other, and in many respects so different.
It is curious further, and of much interest to note, that in these singing-games, if nowhere else, thecountry and the city child, the children of the mansion and the children of the alley, meet all, beautifully, on common ground. And, how the out-door ones lie dormant for spaces, and spring simultaneously into action in widely separated parts—town and country alike—is a problem which may not be easily solved. It seems to us that, like the songs of birds, they belong to certain seasons, and are suggested, each in its turn, or class by class, by the feeling in the air. But mark, I say onlyseems, for who may dogmatize on such matters!
Not the more exalted songs of child life here—not "Willie Winkie," and "Cuddle Doon," and "Castles in the Air," and all that widely esteemed band, which, collectively, would themselves tax the limits of a large volume—but some of the ruder ditties only which the children for many generations have delighted to sing, and been no less charmed by hearing sung, and which of late have not been so frequently seen in print. These rude old favourites, too, with slight comment—little being required. And of such, surely "Cock Robin" may well be awarded the place of honour—a song which, together with the more elaborate tale of "The Babes in the Wood," has done more to make its pert and dapper red-waistcoated subject the general favourite he is with old and young, than any virtue that may be claimed for the little tyrant himself.
Who killed Cock Robin?I, said the Sparrow,With my bow and arrow,I killed Cock Robin.
Who saw him die?I, said the Fly,With my little eye,I saw him die.
Who caught his blood?I, said the Fish,With my little dish,I caught his blood.
Who'll make his shroud?I, said the Beetle,With my thread and needle,I'll make his shroud.
Who'll carry him to his grave?I, said the Kite,If it's not in the night,I'll carry him to his grave.
Who'll dig his grave?I, said the Owl,With my spade and shovel,I'll dig his grave.
Who'll carry the link?I, said the Linnet,I'll fetch it in a minute,I'll carry the link.
Who'll be chief mourner?I, said the Dove,I'll mourn for my love,I'll be chief mourner.
Who'll sing the psalm?I, said the Thrush,As he sat on a bush,I'll sing the psalm.
Who'll be the parson?I, said the Rook,With my little book,I'll be the parson.
Who'll be the clerk?I, said the Lark,If it's not in the dark,I'll be the clerk.
Who'll toll the bell?I, said the Bull,Because I can pull,I'll toll the bell.
And all the little birdsFell a-sighing and a-sobbing,When they heard the bell tollFor poor Cock Robin.
And of Cock Robin again, no less captivating has been the ballad celebrating his wedding with little Jenny Wren. Though why with a lady of the Wren family, must always strike naturalists as an absurdity; and, I suppose, we may not ask how it was the banns were not forbidden, since the Messrs. Wren, with the children, and the whole creation of birds—with the single exception of a blackguard cuckoo—have jubilantly acquiesced in the nuptials.
It was a merry time,When Jenny Wren was young,So neatly as she dressed,And so sweetly as she sung.
Robin Redbreast lost his heart,He was a gallant bird;He doffed his hat to Jenny,And thus to her he said:
"My dearest Jenny Wren,If you will but be mine,You shall dine on cherry pieAnd drink nice currant wine.
"I'll dress you like a goldfinch,Or like a peacock gay;So, if you'll have me, Jenny,Let us appoint the day."
Jenny blushed behind her fan,And thus declared her mind:"Then let it be to-morrow, Bob—I take your offer kind.
"Cherry pie is very good,So is currant wine;But I'll wear my russet gownAnd never dress too fine."
Robin rose up early,At the break of day;He flew to Jenny Wren's houseTo sing a roundelay.
He met the Cock and Hen,And bade the Cock declareThis was his wedding dayWith Jenny Wren the fair.
The Cock then blew his horn,To let the neighbours knowThis was Robin's wedding day,And they might see the show.
Then followed him the Lark,For he could sweetly sing,And he was to be the clerkAt Cock Robin's wedding.
He sang of Robin's loveFor little Jenny Wren;And when he came unto the end,Then he began again.
At first came Parson Rook,With his spectacles and band;And one of Mother Hubbard's booksHe held within his hand.
The Goldfinch came on next,To give away the bride;The Linnet, being bridesmaid,Walked by Jenny's side;
And as she was a-walking,Said, "Upon my word,I think that your Cock RobinIs a very pretty bird."
The Blackbird and the Thrush,And charming Nightingale,Whose sweet songs sweetly echoThrough every grove and dale;
The Sparrow and the Tomtit,And many more were there;All came to see the weddingOf Jenny Wren the fair.
The Bullfinch walked by Robin,And thus to him did say:"Pray mark, friend Robin Redbreast,That Goldfinch dressed so gay;
"That though her gay apparelBecomes her very well,Yet Jenny's modest dress and lookMust bear away the bell."
Then came the bride and bridegroom;Quite plainly was she dressed,And blushed so much, her cheeks wereAs red as Robin's breast.
But Robin cheered her up;"My pretty Jen," says he,"We're going to be married.And happy we shall be."
"Oh," then says Parson Rook,"Who gives this maid away?""I do," says the Goldfinch,"And her fortune I will pay:
"Here's a bag of grain of many sorts,And other things beside;Now happy be the bridegroom,And happy be the bride!"
"And you will have her, Robin,To be your wedded wife?""Yes, I will," says Robin,"And love her all my life!"
"And you will have him Jenny,Your husband now to be?""Yes, I will," says Jenny,"And love him heartily."
Then on her finger fairCock Robin put the ring;"You're married now," says Parson Rook,While the lark aloud did sing:
"Happy be the bridegroom,And happy be the bride!And may not man, nor bird, nor beast,This happy pair divide!"
The birds were asked to dine;Not Jenny's friends alone,But every pretty songsterThat had Cock Robin known.
They had a cherry pie,Besides some currant wine,And every guest brought something,That sumptuous they might dine.
Now they all sat or stood,To eat and to drink;And every one said whatHe happened to think.
They each took a bumper,And drank to the pair;Cock Robin the bridegroom,And Jenny the fair.
The dinner-things removed,They all began to sing;And soon they made the placeFor a mile around to ring.
The concert it was fine,And every birdie triedWho best should sing for RobinAnd Jenny Wren the bride.
When in came the Cuckoo,And made a great rout;He caught hold of Jenny,And pulled her about.
Cock Robin was angry,And so was the Sparrow,Who fetched in a hurryHis bow and his arrow.
His aim then he took,But he took it not right,His skill was not good,Or he shot in a fright;
For the Cuckoo he missed,But Cock Robin he killed!And all the birds mournedThat his blood was so spilled.
Yet another song of the Robin which has moistened the eyes of many a youthful vocalist. I don't know that it ever had a title, but we will call it
The North wind doth blow,And we shall have snow,And what will the Robin do then, poor thing?
He will sit in the barn,And keep himself warm,With his little head under his wing, poor thing!
It is not claimed for these pieces that they belong to any high order of verse—though really, in more senses than one, they belong to the very first. In point of popularity alone, they are not surpassed by "Paradise Lost," nor by the plays of Shakespeare, or the songs of Burns. Then, they have so thoroughly commanded the interest and engaged the affections of the wee folks, that, with old and young alike—for the young so soon grow into the old, alas!—there are no compositions inthe world better secured for the honour and glory of immortal fame. They have not been very often printed, I have said—not often in recent years, at least—and the reason, I suppose, is because it was not deemed necessary to set out in print what everybody knows so well by heart. It must be refreshing for the eye, however, to scan what is so familiar to the ear, and I make no apology—yea, I hope to be thanked for their appearance in this little book for bairns and big folk. Let the next be
Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep,And doesn't know where to find them;Let them alone, and they'll come home,Bringing their tails behind them.
Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep.And dreamt she heard them bleating;But when she awoke, she found it a joke,For still they all were fleeting.
Then up she took her little crook,Determined for to find them;She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed.For they'd left their tails behind them.
It happen'd one day, as Bo-peep did strayUnder a meadow hard by,That she espied their tails, side by side,All hung on a tree to dry.
She heaved a sigh, and wiped her eye,And over the hillocks went stump-o;And tried as she could, as a shepherdess should,To tack again each to its rump-o.
The ballad lacks sadly in particulars, to be sure. How the tails of the entire flock disappeared in one fell swoop—whether by malice aforethought, at the instance of a lurking enemy, or in a miraculous accident, whilst the young shepherdess slept at her charge—has never been told, though thousands of wondering pows, multiplied by ten, have wanted to know. Perhaps it is better not explained. Mystery is so often just another word for charm.
We will now have the curious tale of "The House that Jack Built." In no sense a curious house, perhaps, but famous because of the fortuitous events which issued in regular sequence from the simple fact of the builder having stored a quantity of malt within its walls. It is told best with the accompaniment of pictorial illustrations, but here these are not available.
This is the house that Jack built.
This is the maltThat lay in the houseThat Jack built.
This is the ratThat ate the maltThat lay in the houseThat Jack built.
This is the catThat killed the ratThat ate the maltThat lay in the houseThat Jack built.
This is the dogThat worried the catThat killed the ratThat ate the maltThat lay in the houseThat Jack built.
This is the cow with the crumpled hornThat tossed the dogThat worried the catThat killed the ratThat ate the maltThat lay in the houseThat Jack built.
This is the maiden all forlornThat milked the cow with the crumpled hornThat tossed the dogThat worried the catThat killed the ratThat ate the maltThat lay in the houseThat Jack built
This is the man all tattered and tornThat kissed the maiden all forlornThat milked the cow with the crumpled hornThat tossed the dogThat worried the catThat killed the ratThat ate the maltThat lay in the houseThat Jack built.
This is the priest all shaven and shornThat married the man all tattered and tornThat kissed the maiden all forlornThat milked the cow with the crumpled hornThat tossed the dogThat worried the catThat killed the ratThat ate the maltThat lay in the houseThat Jack built.
This is the cock that crowed in the mornAnd waked the priest all shaven and shornThat married the man all tattered and tornThat kissed the maiden all forlornThat milked the cow with the crumpled hornThat tossed the dogThat worried the catThat killed the ratThat ate the maltThat lay in the houseThat Jack built.
It has been a satisfaction to many a little boy, I am sure, to feel that he was not, by many miles, so simple as that most abject of all simpletons, familiar to him as—
Simple Simon met a pie-man,Going to the fair;Said Simple Simon to the pie-man,"Let me taste your ware."
Says the pie-man, "Simple Simon,Show me first your penny;"Said Simple Simon to the pie-man,"Indeed, I have not any."
Simple Simon went a-fishing,For to catch a whale;All the water he had gotWas in his mother's pail!
Some may follow without comment.
Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard,To get her poor doggie a bone;When she got there, the cupboard was bare,And so the poor doggie had none.
She went to the baker's to buy him some bread,But when she came back the poor doggie was dead.
She went to the undertaker's to buy him a coffin,And when she came back the doggie was laughing.
She went to the butcher's to get him some tripe,And when she came back he was smoking a pipe.
She went to the fish-shop to buy him some fish,And when she came back he was washing the dish.
She went to the tavern for white wine and red,And when she came back doggie stood on his head.
She went to the hatter's to buy him a hat,And when she came back he was feeding the cat.
She went to the tailor's to buy him a coat,And when she came back he was riding the goat.
She went to the barber's to buy him a wig,And when she came back he was dancing a jig.
She went to the draper's to buy him some linen,And when she came back the good dog was spinning.
She went to the hosier's to buy him some hose,And when she came back he was dressed in his clothes.
The dame made a curtsey, the dog made a bow,The dame said, "Your servant," the dog said, "Bow-wow."
Old Mother Goose, whenShe wanted to wander,Would ride through the airOn a very fine gander.
Mother Goose had a house,'Twas built in a wood,Where an owl at the doorFor a sentinel stood.
She had a son Jack,A plain-looking lad,Not very good,Nor yet very bad.
She sent him to market,A live goose he bought,"Here, mother," says he,"It won't go for nought."
Jack's goose and the ganderGrew very fond,They'd both eat together,Or swim in one pond.
Jack found, one fine morning,As I have been told,His goose had laid himAn egg of pure gold.
Jack rode to his motherThe news for to tell;She called him a good boy,And said it was well.
Jack sold his gold eggTo a rascally Jew,Who cheated him out ofThe half of his due.
Then Jack went a-courtingA lady so gay,As fair as the lily,And sweet as the May.
The Jew and the SquireCame behind his backAnd began to belabourThe sides of poor Jack.
And then the gold eggWas thrown in the sea,When Jack he jumped inAnd got it presently.
The Jew got the goose,Which he vowed he would kill,Resolving at onceHis pockets to fill.
Jack's mother came inAnd caught the goose soon,And mounting its back,Flew up to the moon.
An old woman was sweeping her house, and she found a little crooked sixpence. "What," she said, "shall I do with this little sixpence? I will go to market and buy a little pig." As she was coming home she came to a stile. The piggy would not go over the stile. She went a little farther, and she met a dog, so she said to the dog:—
"Dog, dog, bite pig;Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the dog would not.
She went a little farther, and she met a stick. So she said:—
"Stick, stick, beat dog;Dog won't bite pig;Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the stick would not.
She went a little farther, and she met a fire. So she said:—
"Fire, fire, burn stick;Stick won't beat dog;Dog won't bite pig;Piggy won't get over the stile;And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the fire would not.
She went a little farther, and she met some water. So she said:—
"Water, water, quench fire;Fire won't burn stick;Stick won't beat dog;Dog won't bite pig;Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the water would not.