> Maddy Prior > Records > Hang Up Sorrow and Care
Hang Up Sorrow and Care
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Hang Up Sorrow and Care being a collection of the Wit and Philosophie |
as it is put forth upon the stage by
Ms MADDY PRIOR and THE CARNIVAL BAND
Mr Andrew Watts, Mr Wm. Badley, Sgr Rafaello Mizraki,
Mr Giles Levin and Mr Jub Davies
These Witty Ballads, Jovial Songs and Merry Catches were most ingeniously recorded for the enjoyment of all Lovers of Musick by Mr Mark Irwin at his studio called Straylight in ye village of Willesden in ye Country of Middlesex. The recording was mastered by Mr Denis Blackham of Porky’s in Soho in the City of Westminster. It may be purchased from Mr John Dagnell at Park Records in the environs of the City of Oxford whence the curious and discerning listener may obtain other fine recordings by the same musicians.
We beg leave to offer most humble gratitude to the Arts Council of England for bestowing on us an Artists’ Research and Development Grant; to Mr Rick Kemp who hath permitted us to play his ayre Somewhere Along the Road in Now O Now I Needs Must Part; to Mark, Graham and Merlin at Straylight Studio whose skill and industry have embellished our meagre efforts and made them worthly to appear in Publick; to our Munificent Patrons, John and Nico at Park Records, to whom we wish long life and prosperity; to Bill, Graham and all at Riverline Reprographics, to our hosts Sandra and Bob at The Limekilns, Bewcastle whose hospitality and genial company hath ever kept alive the spirits of Old Simon the King; and to our families and friends whose forebearances we have sorely tried.
The Instruments of Musick
Mr Badley: lute, baroque guitar, acoustic and electric modern guitars, banjo, mandolin, vocals
Mr Davies: ye great dooble bass, vocals
Mr Levin: violin, recorder, hoboy, mandolin, vocals
Sgr Mizraki: drums, percussion, ’cello, ye Hammonde organ, vocals
Mr Watts: flemish bagpipes, shalmes, curtals, recorders, melodica, kazoo, vocals
All titles arranged Andrew Watts
Produced by Andrew Watts & Bill Badley
Published by J. Dagnell Esq.
Park Records PRK CD31
Oxford 1995
(CD, UK, September 1996)
The Titles of Musick
- The Prodigal’s Resolution (2.48)
- Playford Tunes (4.18)
- The World Is Turned Upside Down (3.08)
- The Jovial Begger (yes spelt er) (3.07)
- The Leathern Bottel (4.52)
- Iantha (1.25)
- An Thou Were My Ain Thing (3.16)
- Oh! That I Had But a Fine Man (2.54)
- Now O Now I Needs Must Part (5.23)
- Man Is for the Woman Made (1.59)
- A Northern Catch / Little Barley Corne (5.41)
- Granny’s Delight / My Lady Foster’s Delight (1.58)
- A Round of Three Country Dances In One (2.39)
- Youth’s the Season Made for Joys (3.25)
- In the Days of My Youth (2.44)
- Never Weatherbeaten Saile (2.14)
- Old Simon the King (4.54)
Part I
In which Old Simon the King, being discover’d at an Ale-House in company with several jovial comrades of the bottle, doth discourse upon the strangeness of the present times.
‘Lo’ said Old Simon ‘how the World is turned upside down. The Town is plagued with lewd fellows who strut in silks and scarlet, be their ancestors no better than Adam. Hospitality is put out of doors and the good old ways are quite forgot. Alas for Old England! Twere better a Beggar than a King, such is the disorder in the World.’
‘If such is the condition of our Commonwealth,’ said Credulous, ‘is there any worthy of honour and praise?’
‘Why yes,’ quoth Old Simon, ‘He that first devised the Leathern Bottel, for he hath been of more use to Mankind than all the Lawyers, Divines and Philosophers that ever drew brath.’
And thus saying, he lifted his flagon once more unto that most noble and capacious orifice, his mouth.
The Prodigal’s Resolution
Anon. from D’Urfey’s Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy 1719-1720. Tune Jamaica also in The Dancing Master 1670.
I am a lusty lively Lad,
Now come to One and Twenty,
My Father left me all he had,
Both gold and Silver plenty;
Now he’s in grave, I will be brave,
The Ladies shall adore me;
I’ll court and kiss, what hurt’s in this,
My dad did so before me.
My Father was a thrifty Sir,
Till Soul and Body sundred,
Some say he was an Usurer,
For thirty in the Hundred;
He scrapt and scratcht, she pincht and patcht,
That in her Body bore me;
But I’ll let fly, good cause why,
My Father was born before me.
So I get wealth, what care I if
My Grandsir were a Sawyer,
My Father proved to be a chief,
And subtile, Learned Lawyer:
By Cook’s Reports and Tricks in Courts,
He did with Treasure store me,
That I may say, Heavens bless the Day,
My Father was born before me.
So many Blades now rant in Silk,
And put on Scarlet Clothing,
At first did spring from Butter-milk,
Their Ancestors worth nothing;
Old Adam and our Grandam Eve,
by digging and by Spinning,
Did all to Kings and Princes give
Their radical Beginning.
Our aged Counsellors would have
Us live by Rule and Reason
’Cause they are marching to their Grave,
And Pleasure’s out of Season;
I’ll learn to dance the Mode of Francs,
That Ladies may adore me;
My thrifty Dad no Pleasure had,
Tho’ he was born before me.
I’ll to the Court, where Venus Sport
Doth revel it in Plenty,
I’ll deal with all, both great and small,
From twelve to five and twenty;
In Play-houses I’ll spend my Days,
For they’re hung round with Plackets,
Ladies make room, behold I come,
Have at your knocking Jackets.
The Old Mole, Mill Field, The Wherligig, The Whish, Millison’s Jegge
Anon. The Dancing Master, First edition 1651
(instrumental)
The World Is Turned Upside Down
To the tune When the King Enjoys His Own Again,
Anon. 1646
Listen to me and you shall hear
New hath not been this thousand year
Since Herod, Caesar and many more,
You never heard the like before.
Holy-days are despis’d,
New fashions are devis’d,
Old Christmas is kicked out of Town,
Yet let’s be content and the times lament,
You see the world turned upside down.
Command is giv’n, we must obey,
and quite forget Old Christmas Day;
Kill a thousand men, or a town regain,
We will give thanks and praise amain.
The wine pot shall clink,
We will feast and drink,
and then strange motions will abound.
Yet let’s be content and the times lament,
You see the world turned upside down.
Our Lords and Knights and Gentry too,
Do mean old fashions to forego:
They set a Porter at the gate,
That none must enter in thereat.
They count it a sin
When poor people come in.
Hospitality itself is drowned.
Yet let’s be content and the times lament,
You see the world turned upside down.
The Serving Men do sit and whine,
And think it long ere dinner time;
The Butler’s still out of the way,
Or else my Lady keeps the key;
The poor old Cook
In the larder doth look,
Where is no goodess to be found.
Yet let’s be content and the times lament,
You see the world turned upside down.
To conclude, I’ll tell you news that’s right:
Christmas was killed at Nasbie fight;
Charity was slain at that same time,
Jack Tell-Troth too, a friend of mine.
Likewise then did die
Roast beef and shred pie;
Pig, goos and capon no quarter found.
Yet let’s be content and the times lament,
You see the world turned upside down.
The Jovial Begger (yes spelt er)
Anon., from Playford’s Choice Ayres, Songs and Dialogues
There was a jovial begger, he had a wooden leg;
Lame from his cradle, and forced for to beg.
Chorus (after each verse):
And a begging we will go, we’ll go,
And a begging we will go.
A bag for his oatmeal, another for his salt;
And a pair of crutches to shew that he can halt.
A bag for his wheat, and another for his rye;
A little bottle by his side, to drink when he’s a-dry.
To Pimblico we’ll go, where we shall merry be;
With ev’ry man a can in’s hand, and a wench upon his knee.
I begg’d for my master, and got him store of pelf;
But Jove now be praised, I now beg for my self.
In a hollow tree I live, and pay no rent;
Providence provides for me, and I am well content.
Of all occupations, a begger lives the best;
For when he’s tired and weary he’ll lie him down and rest.
I fear no ilots against me, I live in open iell;
Then who would be a iing, when the beggers live so well.
The Leathern Bottel
Anon. from Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy 1864.
Now God above that made all things,
Heaven and Earth and all therein,
The Ships upon the Swas to Swim
To keep foes out they come not in:
Now every one doth what he can
All for the use and praise of Man,
I wish in Heaven that Soul may dwell
That first devis’d the Leathern Bottel.
Now what say you to the Canns of Wood?
Faith they are naught they cannot be good;
When a man for Beer he doth therein send,
To have them fill’d as he doth intend
The bearer stumbleth by the way,
And on the ground his Liquor doth lay
The straight the Man begins to Ban,
And swear it was long of the Wooden Can:
But had it bin in a Leather Bottel
Although he stumbled all had been well,
So safe therein it would remain,
Until the man got up again.
I wish in Heaven that Soul may dwell
That first devis’d the Leathern Bottel.
Now for the Pots with handles three,
Faith they shall have no praise of me;
When a man and his wife do fall at strife
As many I fear have done in their life,
They lay their hands upon the pot both
And brake the same though they were loth,
Which they shall answer another day,
For casting their liquor so vainly away;
But had it bin in a Bottel fill’d,
The one might have tugg’d, the other have held,
They both might have tugg’d till their hearts did ake’
And yet no harm the Bottel would take.
I wish in Heaven that Soul may dwell
That first devis’d the Leathern Bottel.
Now what do you say to these glasses fine?
Faith they shall have no praise of mine;
When friends are at a table set,
And by them several sorts of meat;
The one loves flesh, the other fish,
Among them all remove a dish;
Touch but the glass upon the brim,
The glass is broke, no wine left in;
Then be your table cloth ne’er so fine,
There lyes your beer, your ale, your wine,
And doubtless for so small abuse
A young man may his service lose.
I wish in Heaven that Soul may dwell
That first devis’d the Leathern Bottel.
Now when this Bottel is grown old,
And that it will no longer hold;
Out of the side you may cut a clout,
To mend your shoo when worn out;
Or hang the other side of a pin,
’Twill serve to put many odd trifles in.
I wish in Heaven his Soul may dwell
That first invented the Leathern Bottel.
Part II
In which Old Simon the King, being enamoured of the Hostess of the Tavern, and she scorning his protestations, doth muse upon the sweet torments of love.
‘Unhappy the mortal,’ sighed Old Simon, ‘who is wounded by Cupid’s arrows—yet more wretched still the flinty-hearted soul who feels not the darts of the playful Boy!’
‘Is there no remedy for Love’s sickness?’ enquired Feeble-Wit.
‘Indeed none,’ replied the King of Imbibers. ‘Save the Little Barley-corne which hath indeed the power to transform all sorts and conditions of men—and women too i’ faith.’
‘Tush,’ quoth the Hostess. ‘Th’art full of Sack and Old Ale. A pox on thy bald pate!’
Iantha
Anon. The Dancing Master 13th edition 1706
(instrumental)
An Thou Were My Ain Thing
Anon. rom various sources including Orpheus Caledonius 1770, and A Collection of Old Ballads 1723
An thou were my ain Thing,
I would love thee, I would love thee,
An thou were my ain Thing,
So dearly would I love thee.
I would take thee in my Arms,
I’d secure thee from all Harms,
For above mortals thou hast charms,
So dearly I do love thee.
Of Race divine thou needs must be,
Since nothing earthly equals thee,
By Heavn’s I beg you’ll favour me,
For dearly I do love thee.
My Passion, constant as the Sun,
Flames stronger still, will ne’er have done
Till fates my thread of Life have spun,
Which breathing out, I’ll love thee.
Oh! That I Had But a Fine Man
Pelham Humphrey 1647-1674
Oh! that I had but a fine Man,
A sweet Man,
A dainty Man,
And a spicy one,
For now I lye by my self all alone,
And the cold Sweat comes me upon,
And alack, for my Love I dye!
And if I dye,
Why then I dye.
Oh Mother, take you no care for that,
So I may but have a Man;
A sweet Man,
A fine Man,
A dainty Man,
A delicate Man,
And a spicy one,
For now I lye by my self all alone,
And the cold Sweat comes me upon,
And alack, for my Love I dye!
And if I dye,
Why then I dye.
Now O Now I Needs Must Part
John Dowland, First Booke of Songes or Ayres, 1579
Now O now I needs must part,
Parting though I absent mourn.
Absence can no joy impart,
Joy once fled cannot return.
While I live I needs must love,
Love lives not when hope is gone.
Now at last despair doth prove,
Love divided loveth not.
Sad despair doth drive me hence,
This despair unkindness sends,
If that parting be offence,
It is she which then offends.
Dear when I am from thee gone,
Gone are all my joys at once,
I love thee and thee alone,
In whose love I joyed once.
And although your sight I leave,
Sight wherein my joys do lie,
Till that death do sense bereave,
Never shall affection die.
Sad despair ...
Dear, if I do not return,
Love and I shall die together,
For my absence never move
Whom you might have joyed ever.
Part we must, though now I die,
Die I do to part with you,
If despair doth call to mind
Who both lived and died true.
Sad despair ...
Man Is for the Woman Made
Henry Purcell, 1659-1695
Man, man, man is for the woman made,
And the woman for the man.
As the spur is to the jade,
As the scabbard for the blade,
As for digging is the spade,
As for liquor is the can,
So man, man, man is for the woman made,
And the woman for the man.
As the sceptre’s to be swayed,
As for the night’s the serenade,
As for pudding is the pan,
And to cool is the fan,
So man, man, man is for the woman made,
And the woman for the man.
Be she widow, wife or maid,
Be she wanton, be she staid,
Be she well or ill arrayed,
Queen, slut or harridan,
So man, man, man is for the woman made,
And the woman for the man.
A Northern Catch
John Hilton, Catch as Catch Can
Ise go with thee my sweet Peggy, my Honny,
Fa la la
Thous be welcome to me with me mony
Sing fa la la
Then strike it up Piper let’s ha’ een a spring
Gid feth sir and that you’s ha
Hey ding hey ding.
Brase your tabour, whilst we labour
Fa la la
Harke how the Drone below alone doth
Hum
Whilst my pigsney cries fie, fie, fie, fie,
I say no more but mum.
Thou and I will foot it Joe,
Fa la la
And what wee’l doe neene shall know,
But taste the Juice of Barly,
Wee’l sport all night for our delight,
And home in the morning early.
Little Barley Corne
Words anon. Roxburghe Ballads. Tune Stingo or Cold and Raw anon. various seventeenth century sources
Come and doe not musing stand if thou the truth discerne,
But take a full cup in thy hand and thus begin to learne -
Not of the earth nor of the ayre, at evening or at morne -
But joviall boys your Chrismas keep with the little Barley-Corne.
It is the cunning alchymist that ere was in the land;
’Twil change your metal, when it list, in turning of a hand -
Your blushing gold to silver wan, your silver into brasse -
’Twill turn a taylor to a man and a man into an asse.
It lends more yeeres unto old age then e’er was lent by nature,
It makes the poet’s fancy rage more than Castalian water,
’Twill make the huntsman chase a fox and never winde his horne;
’Twill cheer a tinker in the stocks, this little Barley-Corne.
It is the neatest serving man to entertain a friend;
It will do more than money can all jarring suits to end,
There’s life in it, and it is here, ’tis here within this cup,
Then take your liquor, do not spare, but cleare carouse it up.
’Twill make a weeping widow laugh and soon incline to pleasure,
’Twill make an old man leave his staff and dance a youthful measure;
And though your clothes be ne’er so bad, all ragged, rent and torne,
Against the cold you may be clad with the little Barley-Corne.
’Twill make a coward not to shrinke but be as stout as maybe;
’Twill make a man that he shall thinke that Joan’s as good as my Lady,
It will inrich the palest face and with rubies it adorne,
Yet you shall think it no disgrace, this little Barley-Corne.
Thus the Barley-Corne hath power e’en for to change our nature,
And make a miser in an hour prove a kind-hearted creature;
And therefore here I say again, let no man take ’t in scourne
That I the vertues do proclaime of the little Barley-Corne.
Part III
In which the occupants of the tavern entertain Old Simon with a number of Country Dances cunningly conjoined in one Ditty. This calleth to mind the rustic pleasures of his youth and with tears he doth expound on the changefulness and mutability of all things.
‘Ah,’ quoth Gullible, ‘Such pious thoughts do credit thy grey hairs.’
‘Plague on your piety and plague on your thoughts!’ cried Simon. ‘I’ll none of ’em!’
And the Bibulous Philosopher expounded the whole substance of his wisdom, to which the company did assent with one voice. And thus they, carrying their Captain of the Bottle aloft, did make a joyful conclusion and end of the whole matter.
Granny’s Delight / My Lady Foster’s Delight
Anon. The Dancing Master 1702 edition
(instrumental)
Note: key noise from the curtal is completely natural and not the fault on your CD / cassette tape or your player!
A Round of Three Country Dances In One
Thomas Ravenscroft, c.1582-c.1635
Sing after, fellows, as you here me,
A toy that seldom is seen a:
Three country dances in a one to be,
A pretty conceit as I ween, a!
Robin Hood, Robin Hood, said Little John,
Come dance before the Queen, a!
In a red petticoat and a green jacket,
A white horse, and a green, a.
The cramp is in my purse full sore,
No money will bide therein, a,
And if I had some salve therefore,
O lightly then would i sing, a.
Hey ho, the cramp, a.
Now foot it as I do, Tom boy, Tom,
Now foot it as I do, Swithen, a.
And Hicke, thou must trick it all alone
Till Robin come leaping in between, a.
Youth’s the Season Made for Joys
Words John Gay, The Beggar’s Opera 1728. Tune anon. Cotillon
Youth’s the Season Made for Joys
Love is then our duty.
She alone who that employs
Well deserves her beauty.
Let’s be gay while we may;
Beauty’s a flower despis’d in decay.
Youth’s the Season Made for Joys
Love is then our duty.
Let us drink and sport today,
Ours is not tomorrow.
Love with youth flies swift away,
Age is naught but sorrow.
Dance and sing, Time’s on the wing,
Life never knows the return of Spring.
Let us drink and sport today,
Ours is not tomorrow.
In the Days of My Youth
Words John Gay, The Beggar’s Opera 1728
Tune anon. A Shepherd kept Sheep
In the days of my youth I could bill like dove,
Like a sparrow at all times was ready for love.
The life of all mortals in kissing should pass,
Lip to lip when you’re young then the lip to the glass.
Never Weatherbeaten Saile
Thomas Campion, First Book of Ayres 1613
Never weatherbeaten saile
More willing bent to shore
Never tyred Pingrim’s limbs
Affected slumber more;
Than my wearied spright now longs
To fly out of my troubled brest.
O come quickly sweetest Lord,
And take my soule to rest.
Ever blooming are the joyes
Of Heavn’s high paradice,
Cold age defeats not there our eares,
Nor vapour dims our eyes;
Glory there the Sun outshines,
Whoose beames the blessed only see:
O come quickly glorious Lord,
And raise my spright to thee.
Old Simon the King
Words anon. from D’Urfey’s Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy 1719-1720. Tune anon. from The Division Violin 1685 and Humphry Salter’s The Genteel Companion 1683
In a humour I was of late,
As many good fellows be;
To think of no matters of State,
But seek for good Company:
That best contended me.
I travell’d up and down;
No Company could I find;
Till I came to the sight of the Crown:
My Hostess was sick of the Mumps,
The Maid was ill at ease,
The Tapster was drunk in his Dumps;
They were all of one disease,
Says old Simon the King.
Considering in my mind,
And thus I began to think;
If a man be full to his throat,
And cannot take off his drink,
If his drink will not down,
He may hang himself for shame;
So may the Tapster at the Crown,
Where all this reason I frame;
Drink will make a Man Drunk,
Drunk will make a Man dry;
Dry will make a Man sick
Sick will make a man die,
Says old Simon the King.
If a Man should be drunk to night,
And laid in his grave to morrow;
Will you or any man say,
That he died of Care or Sorrow?
Hang up sorrow and care,
’Tis able to kill a Cat,
He that will drink all night,
Is never afraid of that!
Drinking will make a man Quaff,
Quaffing will make a man Sing;
Singing will make a man Laugh,
And laughing long life doth bring,
Says old Simon the King.
If a puritan Skinker cry,
Dear Brother it is a Sin,
To drink unless you be dry,
Then straight this tale I begin,
A Puritan left his Cann,
And took him to his Jugg,
And there he play’d the man,
As long as he could tugg:
When that he was spy’d,
What did he swear or rail;
No, no truly, dear Brother he cry’d,
Indeed all flesh is frail,
Says old Simon the King.
So Fellows, if you’ll be drunk,
Of frailty it is a sin,
Or for to keep a punk,
Or play it In and In;
For Drink and Dice and Drabs,
Are all of one condition,
And will breed want and Scabs,
In spite of the Physician:
Who so fears every Grass,
Must never piss in a Meadow,
And he that loves a pot and a Lass,
Must never cry oh! my head oh!
Says old Simon the King.