Henry's Songbook

Jack Orion was as good a fiddler
As ever fiddled on a string
And he could drive young women mad
With the tune his wife would sing

But he would fiddle the fish out of salt water
Water from bare marble stone
Or milk from out of a maiden's breast
Though baby she had none

And there he played in the castle hall
And there he played them fast asleep
Except it was for the young countess
And for love she stayed awake

And first he played at a slow slow air
And then he played it brisk and gay
And it's oh dear love behind her hand
The lady she did say

When the day has dawned and the cocks have crowed
And flapped their wings so wide it's you
Must come up to my chamber then
And lie down by my side

So he lapped his fiddle in a cloth of green
And he stole out on his tiptoe
And he's got back to his boy Tom
As fast as he could go

When the day has dawned and the cocks have crowed
And flapped their wings so wide I'm bid
To go up to that lady's door
And stretch out by her side

Lie down, lie down, my good master
And here's a blanket to your hand
And I'll waken you in as good time
As any cock in this land

So Tom took the fiddle into his hand
And he fiddled and he sang for a full hour
Until he's played him fast asleep
And he's off to the lady's bower

And when he come to the countess' door
He twirled so softly at the pin
And the lady true to her promise
Rose up and let him in

Well he did not take that lady gay
To bolster nor to bed but down
Upon the hard cold bedroom floor
Right soon he had her laid

And neither did he kiss her when he come
Nor yet when from her he did go
But in at the lady's bedroom window
The moon like a coal did glow

Oh rugged are your stockings, love
And stubbly is your cheek and chin
And tousled is that yellow hair
That I saw late yestre'en

The stockings belong to my boy Tom
But they were the first came to my hand
And the wind it tousled my yellow hair
As I rode over the land

Tom took the fiddle into his hand
And he fiddled and he played so saucily
And he's off back to his master's house
As fast as go could he

Then up, then up, my good master
Why snore you there so loud for there
Is not a cock in all this land
But has clapped his wings and crowed

Jack Orion took the fiddle into his hand
And he fiddled and he played so merrily
And he's off away to the lady's house
As fast as the coal could gae

And when he come to the lady's door
He twirled so softly at the ring
Saying, Oh my dear here's your true love
Rise up and let me in

She said, Surely you didn't leave behind
A golden brooch or a velvet glove
Or are you returned back again
To taste more of my love

Jack Orion he swore a bloody oath
By oak, by ash, by bitter thorn
Lady, I never was in this room
Since the day that I was born

Oh then it was your own boy Tom
That cruelly has beguiled me
And woe that the blood of that ruffian boy
Should spring in my body

Jack Orion took to his own house saying
Tom my boy, come here to me
And he hung that boy from his own gate-post
As high as the willow tree

(as sung by Martin Carthy)

[1966:] In the roll-call of famous musicians the sonorous name of the Bardd Glas Geraint - Geraint the Blue Bard - occurs. He was a ninth century Welsh harper of such legendary eminence that when Chaucer wrote his 'House of Fame' he set 'the Bret Clascurion' up in the minstrels' gallery alongside Orpheus and similar well-known string-pickers. That was in the 1380s, some five hundred years after the harper's time, but his fame endured for much longer in the English folk ballad named Glasgerion, that by chance came to be called Glenkindie when it spread to Scotland. The ballad of Glasgerion dropped out of tradition long ago but the story it tells is an engaging one (a modern and more democratic parallel is the well-liked Do Me Ama) and it seemed to me too good a song to be shut away in books, so I took it out and dusted it off a bit and set a tune to it and, I hope, started it on a new lease of life. Farm boys, tailors' apprentices, stable-grooms and other tricksters who overhear assignations and forestall the lover are standard stuff in folklore, but they don't usually come to such an unjustly [?] sticky end as opportunistic Tom, the apprentice minstrel of our ballad. (Notes A. L. Lloyd, 'First Person')

[1967:] In the old ballad of Glasgerion, the high-born feudal lady, consumed with chagrin that a low-class youngster has tricked his way into her bed, stabs herself; in the later, more 'democratic' analogue of this ballad, the fo'c'sle song Do me ama, the bourgeois lady is delighted with the sailor who so cheekily smuggled himself into her arms in place of the squire. (Lloyd, England 155)

[1986:] A possible contact in the Middle Ages with the Celtic world of Welsh-speakers is suggested by the nomenclature of one ballad: this is Glasgerion (Child 67), which was preserved in the Percy MS. A Scottish variant, Glenkindie, was collected from an old woman in Aberdeenshire at the end of the eighteenth century. Kittredge's head-note to this ballad in the one-volume reduction of 'English and Scottish Popular Ballads' (1904) draws attention to the appearance of 'The bret (Briton) Glascurion' in Chaucer's 'House of Fame', where he is joined with the harpers Orpheus, Orion (Arion) and Chiron. Glascurion is also mentioned by Gavin Douglas (copying Chaucer) in his 'Palice of Honour'. There is a strong possibility that this character can be identified with Y Bardd Glas Keraint (Keraint the Blue Bard), who is said to have been 'an eminent poet of distinguished birth, son of Owain, Prince of Glamorgan'. The version in the Percy MS opens:

Glasgerion was a King's own sonne,
And a harper he was good.
(Child 67)

Glenkindie was ance a harper gude
He harped to the King
(Child 67)
(Henderson, Alias MacAlias 86)

[1993:] Passed to Martin Carthy by Bert Lloyd. "He made some comment ... I wish I could remember exactly what it was ... but it was along the lines of 'You'll like it because it's almost about you.' With a twinkle in his eye." (Ken Hunt, Sing Out 38/1)

[1999:] "Twirl" is a variant (chiefly Scottish) of "tirl" (also chiefly Scottish) which means to make a rattling sound. When we were visiting some old fortified houses in Scotland, I seem to recall being shown a device on the outside of a door that was a vertical piece of metal with spiral ridges (a twisted "pin") mounted perhaps an inch or three out. On the pin was a ring that was free to move up and down [to] produce a rattling sound that would transmit to the inside and announce a visitor ... "twirling" or "tirling" the ring, or the pin. .. as we find in so many of the old ballads. (Judy Cook, www.mudcat.org, 14 Nov)

http://www.mudcat.org/thread.cfm?threadid=18386