2015

A rare Child ballad with an happy ending. Originated in Scotland, it is known under different names (Tom the Barber, Thomas of Winesberry, and others) and dates back probably to the second half of the eighteen century. My simple rendition uses a Huss & Dalton custom 00-SP and some synthetic strings in the background.

Willie of Wisbury

The king had been a prisoner
And a prisoner long in Spain
And Willie of the Winsbury
Has lain long with his daughter at home
 
"What ails you, what ails you, my daughter Janet
Why you look so pale and wan
Have you had any sore sickness
Or yet been sleeping with a man?"
 
"I have not had any sore sickness
Nor yet been sleeping with a man
It is for you, my father dear,
For biding so long in Spain"
 
"Cast off, cast off your berry-brown gown
Stand naked on the stone
That I may know you by your shape
If you be a maiden or none"
 
So she cast off her berry-brown gown
Stood naked on the stone
Her apron was low, her haunches round
Her face was pale and wan
 
"Was it with a lord or a duke or a knight
Or a man of birth and fame
Or was it with one of my serving men
That's lately come out of Spain?"
 
"No it wasn't with a lord or a duke or a knight
Nor a man of birth and fame
But it was with Willie of Winsbury
I could bide no longer alone"
 
The king has called on his merry men all
By thirty and by three
Saying "Fetch me this Willie of Winsbury
For hanged he shall be"
 
But when he came the king before
He was clad all in the red silk
His hair was like the strands of gold
His skin was as white as the milk
 
"And it is no wonder," said the king
"That my daughter's love you did win
For if I was a woman, as I am a man
My bedfellow you would have been"
 
"Now will you marry my daughter Janet
By the truth of your right hand?
Oh will you marry my daughter Janet
I'll make you lord of my land"
 
"Well yes, I'll marry your daughter Janet
By the truth of my right hand
Well yes I'll marry your daughter Janet
But I'll not be the lord of your land"
 
He's mounted her on a milk-white steed
And himself on a dapple grey
He has made her the lady of as much as land
As she shall ride in a long summer's day.

Willie o' Winsbury (scottish trad. - Child #100)

Just recently, after decades of oblivion, I came again across this little jewel written by Stephen Stills in 1969. And I could not resist giving it a try using a Huss&Dalton custom 00-SP. Tuning is D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, A#, D#.

4+20

Four and twenty years ago, I come into this life,
the son of a woman and a man who lived in strife.
He was tired of being poor
and he wasn't into selling door to door
and he worked like the devil to be more.

A different kind of poverty now upsets my soul
Night after sleepless night, I walk the floor and I want to know
why am I so alone?
Where is my woman can I bring her home?
Have I driven her away? Is she gone?

Morning comes to sunrise and I'm driven to my bed.
I see that it is empty and there's devils in my head.
I embrace the many colored beast.
I grow weary of the torment, can there be no peace?
And I catch myself just wishing that my life would simply cease.

4 and 20 (Stephen Stills)

Baidin Fheilimi (Irish trad.)

Now westlin winds 

Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns
Bring autumn's pleasant weather
The moorcock springs on whirring wings
Amang the blooming heather
Now waving grain, wild o'er the plain
Delights the weary farmer
And the moon shines bright as I rove at night
To muse upon my charmer

The partridge loves the fruitful fells
The plover loves the mountain
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells
The soaring hern the fountain
Through lofty groves the cushat roves
The path of man to shun it
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush
The spreading thorn the linnet

Thus every kind their pleasure find
The savage and the tender
Some social join and leagues combine
Some solitary wander
Avaunt! Away! the cruel sway,
Tyrannic man's dominion
The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry
The fluttering, gory pinion

But Peggy dear the evening's clear
Swift flies the skimming swallow
The sky is blue, the fields in view 
All fading green and yellow
Come let us stray our gladsome way
And view the charms of nature
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn
And every happy creature

We'll gently walk and sweetly talk
Till the silent moon shines clearly
I'll grasp thy waist and, fondly pressed,
Swear how I love thee dearly
Not vernal showers to budding flowers
Not autumn to the farmer
So dear can be as thou to me
My fair, my lovely charmer


4 and 20 (Stephen Stills)

LazyShark

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