There was a troupe of mountebanks, They came ‘way o’er the plain, By Winchester & Wessex Weald, In sun and wind and rain. They were a merry company, A quaint and motley company As ever you could find For Tom the piper marched before, And Jock the fiddler, limping sore, Came following behind. And there was Hans who played the flute, Another Orphy, with his lute, Made folks to dance and play, And join this merry company, This quaint and motley company, This rag-tag, bobtail company, Oh, any time o’ day. And there was Nell, a dainty dear, Who trilled away both loud and clear, A sweeter sound you ne’er would hear, Upon a morn in May. And there was Meg who followed soon With voice that mock’d the the ring dove’s croon, Oh, any time o’ day. And then came youthful Romeo, Oh Romeo? Who sang of love, both high and low, No maid could ever say him nay, For he would vow fidelity To one, or two, or three, (Oh no!), Yes, any time o’ day. And Noll a heavy baritone , (A basso, e profundo tone,) He’d roar you like a megaphone, So loudly could he bray. But when he did a tavern spy, He stay’d his feet, nor passed it by, Oh, any time o’ day. There was a troupe of mountebanks, They came ‘way o’er the plain, By Winchester & Wessex Weald, In sun and wind and rain.
The Mountebanks
Song Cycle by Martin Easthope (1882 - 1925)
1a. Preamble
Language: English
Text Authorship:
- by Helen Taylor (1876 - 1943)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson1b. Episode
Language: English
And a the evening shadows longer grew, they found themselves in the village of Farthinhoe where they would spend the night. Mine host of “The Barleymow,” a right good man and worthy, seeing that their pockets were as light as their cares, essayed fair exchange. He would give them sustenance and shelter for the night, if they, in their turn, would ply their art before the company. So now our purpose is to show How Nell, Noll, Meg and Romeo Earned board and bed in Farthinghoe, One day at Farthinghoe.
Text Authorship:
- by Helen Taylor (1876 - 1943)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson2. Dusk of dreams
Language: English
There’s a swaying of branches where the white blossom swings, There’s a drifting of petals and a folding of wings, And a hush in the glade where the nightingale sings, As we glide a-down the dusk of dreams. Long ago the wind sang lullaby, Rock’d the sleepy world to lullaby, Calling us away, Oh, so far and far away, Crooning down the dusk of dreams. There’s a glowing of embers when the fire-flicker dies, There’s a deep’ning of shadows and a closing of eyes, And there’s one ray of sunlight where a drowsy bird lies, As we glide a-down the dusk of dreams.
Text Authorship:
- by Helen Taylor (1876 - 1943)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson3. The quack doctor
Language: English
My name is Tom Shilling, the King of the Quacks, For I heal all your aches and your ills, The pains in your legs and the cricks in your backs All give way to my potions and pills. I’ve a wonderful cure, will you buy it? A remedy sure, will you try it? Walk up, there’s nothing to pay, For a sample, there’s nothing to pay It will drive all your aches and your pains and your ailments away. Jack Pudding fell sick of a grievous complaint, And he wouldn’t be tempted to eat, He left the “Red Lion” so weary and faint That he couldn’t stand up on his feet. Then he had a most excellent notion, To sample my wonderful lotion, And now he’s jolly and gay, Oh, so jaunty, jolly and gay, He can walk twenty miles to the “Crown” or the “Dragon” today. Dame Dawkins was cursed with a terrible cough, And her voice was so feeble and weak, The neighbours all said “It will carry her off,” For she hardly could hear herself speak. Then I gave her one dose of my lotion, My staggering, life giving lotion, And now she’s merry and gay, Oh, so mirthful, merry and gay, Her good mad can hear her the length of the village away! My name is Tom Shilling, the King of the Quacks, For I heal all your aches and your ills, The pains in your legs and the cricks in your backs All give way to my potions and pills. I’ve a wonderful cure, will you buy it? A remedy sure, will you try it? Walk up, there’s nothing to pay, For a sample, there’s nothing to pay It will drive all your aches and your pains and your ailments away. So if pain you’d be killing, Just come to Tom Shilling The King of the Quacks!
Text Authorship:
- by Helen Taylor (1876 - 1943)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson4. The heart‑rending story
Language: English
'Tis of a lovely maiden the tale is told, Her eyes were like the violet, her hair was of gold. This tale of cruel beauty would melt the stones, The heart-rending story of Barbara Jones. ‘Twas on a Sunday morning at half past eight, They met the very first time, beside the church gate, He asked if he might court her in manly tones, But she turned from him coldly, did Barbara Jones. ‘Twas on a Monday morning at half past eight, He begged her for to wed him, beside the church gate, But she would only mock him in scornful tones, And left him there a weeping, did Barbara Jones. Hear now the tragic sorrow and cruel fate, They met and, for the third time, beside the church gate, So ends this tragic story in tears and groans For she met him, And she married him! Did Barbara Jones.
Text Authorship:
- by Helen Taylor (1876 - 1943)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson5. The minstrel
Language: English
To the birds at morn, My song stirs the brook and the meadow And the waving corn. I sing to the banners of sunset As day goes by. I sing to the sisters seven, And the moon in the sky. But when thou lookest upon me, O loved one of mine, The song and the heart of the singer Are thine, all thine. To thee, to thee, O beloved, All, all belong, Life that is more than music, Love that is more than song.
Text Authorship:
- by Helen Taylor (1876 - 1943)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson6. Jingle hat
Language: English
Whether you wish it or no, You must dance when he comes, To the tune of the panpipes, cymbals and drums Sounded by Jingl-Hat Joe. Bells on his head, bells on his toes, Jingling he comes, jingling he goes. Wedding or wake, market or fair, Jingle-Hat Joe’s sure to be there, Whether you wish it or no, You must dance when he comes, To the tune of the panpipes, cymbals and drums Sounded by Jingl-Hat Joe. Hornpipe or jig or saraband, Played by the skill of the one-man band, Now it’s a waltz, lilting and low, Now a gavotte, stately and slow, And now it’s a round or a reel Or a mad tarantella, Not a lad in the land can play it as well. So whether you wish it or no, You’ve all got to dance when he comes, To the tune of the panpipes, cymbals and drums When they’re played by the one-man band!
Text Authorship:
- by Helen Taylor (1876 - 1943)
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Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson7. Here to‑day and gone to‑morrow
Language: English
And so they passed from Farthinghoe When morning broke across the plain, And like the pilgrims of long ago, They took the onward road again To other hamlets far away Where they might beg, or steal or borrow For strolling mountebanks were they, And here today and gone tomorrow. And all the folk of kindly heart Sped on their way the motley show, Save one small maid who stole apart To shed a tear for Romeo. But comrades of so short a stay Can part with but a fleeting sorrow, For strolling mountebanks were they, And here today and gone tomorrow. Strolling mountebanks were they Who halted here a day. And so this troupe of mountebanks They passed ‘way o’er the plain By Winchester and Wessex Weald, In sun, in wind and rain.
Text Authorship:
- by Helen Taylor (1876 - 1943)
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Researcher for this page: Mike PearsonTotal word count: 1271