Fun fact: the first part is adapted from Henry Purcell's 1691 opera, King Arthur. Libretto by John Dryden COMUS Your hay, it is mow'd and your corn is reap'd, Your barns will be full and your hovels heap'd. Come, boys, come, Come, boys, come, And merrily roar out our harvest home. CHORUS OF PEASANTS Harvest home, Harvest home, And merrily roar out our harvest home. COMUS We've cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again, For why shou'd a blockhead have one in ten? One in ten, one in ten, For why shou'd a blockhead have one in ten? PEASANTS One in ten, one in ten, For why shou'd a blockhead have one in ten? COMUS For prating so long, like a book-learn'd sot, Till pudding and dumpling are burnt to the pot: Burnt to pot, burnt to pot, Till pudding and dumpling are burnt to pot. PEASANTS Burnt to pot, burnt to pot, Till pudding and dumpling are burnt to the pot. COMUS We'll toss off our ale till we cannot stand; And heigh for the honour of old England; Old England, Old England, And heigh for the honour of old England. PEASANTS Old England, Old England, And heigh for the honour of old England. Don't know about the second part. Anyway, I've just ordered the CD. Love me some Steeleye Span!
Maddy Pryor and the Steele eye Span, Make a sound that is, England, It was achieved by absòrbing Scotland, Wales, And Ireland, Now all around their hats, They do whare their coulerd Ribbons, For 12 Months and a day, And if any one should ask why they are wearing it, It is for true love, Untill their dyeing day. Saluda Maddy, And Steele-eye Span.
Lyrics to first part: The neck! The neck! The neck! Your hay it is mowed, your corn it is reaped, Your barns will be full and your hovels heaped. Your hay it is mowed, your corn it is reaped, Your barns will be full and your hovels heaped. Come, boys, come Come, boys, come Come, boys, come Come, boys, come And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home! And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home! We've cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again, Why should the blockhead have one in ten? We've cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again, Why should the blockhead have one in ten? One in ten... (etc.) And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home! And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home! For prating so long, like a book-learned sot, When pudding and dumplings burn to the pot; For prating so long, like a book-learned sot, Til puddings and dumpling burn to the pot; Burn to the pot... (etc.) And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home! And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home! We'll toss off our ale till we cannot stand, Then ho for the times of Olde England We'll toss off our ale till we cannot stand, Then ho for the times of Olde England Olde England... (etc.) And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home! And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home! Your hay it is mowed, your corn it is reaped, Your barns will be full and your hovels heaped. Your hay it is mowed, your corn it is reaped, Your barns will be full and your hovels heaped. Come, boys, come... (etc.) And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home! And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home! And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home! The neck! The neck! The neck!
My best attempt at the second part: Hard-faced dames in hoods make haste To cram their lap-bags with the barley waste, Before the rout, the leveret darts, Bawled at by boys in blund'ring carts. Scorched there in the heat of the sun, The dinner-hour their leisure won, Sweet now the small beer goes, In hardwood bottles, we all knows Start of the day the church bell's knell, And fear to hear the gleaning bell, We'll toil all day in the last of the hay, We'll scratch our days away! Beside the hedge the baby sleeps, While far the footsore rabble creeps, Dogs are left to mind the farm, But knaves slouch out to steal the grain. Pigs, they all rootle there, The fields are full of din and blare, Time passes as the glean, The hobby horse whirls round and round Start of the day the church-bells knell, And fear to hear the gleaning bell, We'll toil all day in the last of the hay, We'll scratch our days away! Start of the day the church-bells knell, And fear to hear the gleaning bell, We'll toil all day in the last of the hay, We'll scratch our days away! Stumbling now the gleaning's done, The farmer's fat hares, slung upon his gun, Gives "goodnight" as home they pull, In creaking handcarts bursting full. Stacked well out of mischief's way, To thrash and dress another day, Wives, full of weary pride With such small riches satisfied Start of the day the church bell's knell, And fear to hear the gleaning bell, We'll toil all day in the last of the hay, We'll scratch our days away! Start of the day the church-bells knell, And fear to hear the gleaning bell, We'll toil all day in the last of the hay, We'll scratch our days away! The neck!
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This song is rollicking, rustic and regal all the same time. Love it!
wtf but I just liked this comment
WELL SAID.
Utterly captivating. Maddy is a goddess and whether it's Jessie or Violeta or Peter on violin it's in a class of its own.
Love Jessie May Smart’s fiddle playing, all brilliant musicians
Fun fact: the first part is adapted from Henry Purcell's 1691 opera, King Arthur. Libretto by John Dryden
COMUS
Your hay, it is mow'd and your corn is reap'd,
Your barns will be full and your hovels heap'd.
Come, boys, come,
Come, boys, come,
And merrily roar out our harvest home.
CHORUS OF PEASANTS
Harvest home,
Harvest home,
And merrily roar out our harvest home.
COMUS
We've cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again,
For why shou'd a blockhead have one in ten?
One in ten, one in ten,
For why shou'd a blockhead have one in ten?
PEASANTS
One in ten, one in ten,
For why shou'd a blockhead have one in ten?
COMUS
For prating so long, like a book-learn'd sot,
Till pudding and dumpling are burnt to the pot:
Burnt to pot, burnt to pot,
Till pudding and dumpling are burnt to pot.
PEASANTS
Burnt to pot, burnt to pot,
Till pudding and dumpling are burnt to the pot.
COMUS
We'll toss off our ale till we cannot stand;
And heigh for the honour of old England;
Old England, Old England,
And heigh for the honour of old England.
PEASANTS
Old England, Old England,
And heigh for the honour of old England.
Don't know about the second part. Anyway, I've just ordered the CD. Love me some Steeleye Span!
A taste of the new album presumably. Looking forward to more of this.
Better music than the rubbish played today
I really want to "like" this again & again!
Maddy Pryor and the Steele eye Span, Make a sound that is, England,
It was achieved by absòrbing Scotland, Wales, And Ireland,
Now all around their hats, They do whare their coulerd Ribbons, For 12 Months and a day, And if any one should ask why they are wearing it, It is for true love, Untill their dyeing day.
Saluda Maddy, And Steele-eye Span.
Lyrics to first part:
The neck! The neck! The neck!
Your hay it is mowed, your corn it is reaped,
Your barns will be full and your hovels heaped.
Your hay it is mowed, your corn it is reaped,
Your barns will be full and your hovels heaped.
Come, boys, come
Come, boys, come
Come, boys, come
Come, boys, come
And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home!
And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home!
We've cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again,
Why should the blockhead have one in ten?
We've cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again,
Why should the blockhead have one in ten?
One in ten... (etc.)
And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home!
And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home!
For prating so long, like a book-learned sot,
When pudding and dumplings burn to the pot;
For prating so long, like a book-learned sot,
Til puddings and dumpling burn to the pot;
Burn to the pot... (etc.)
And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home!
And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home!
We'll toss off our ale till we cannot stand,
Then ho for the times of Olde England
We'll toss off our ale till we cannot stand,
Then ho for the times of Olde England
Olde England... (etc.)
And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home!
And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home!
Your hay it is mowed, your corn it is reaped,
Your barns will be full and your hovels heaped.
Your hay it is mowed, your corn it is reaped,
Your barns will be full and your hovels heaped.
Come, boys, come... (etc.)
And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home!
And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home!
And we'll roar out, roar out, roar out our harvest home!
The neck! The neck! The neck!
I love this. Can’t no perfect
TOP song in line with our expectations !
My best attempt at the second part:
Hard-faced dames in hoods make haste
To cram their lap-bags with the barley waste,
Before the rout, the leveret darts,
Bawled at by boys in blund'ring carts.
Scorched there in the heat of the sun,
The dinner-hour their leisure won,
Sweet now the small beer goes,
In hardwood bottles, we all knows
Start of the day the church bell's knell,
And fear to hear the gleaning bell,
We'll toil all day in the last of the hay,
We'll scratch our days away!
Beside the hedge the baby sleeps,
While far the footsore rabble creeps,
Dogs are left to mind the farm,
But knaves slouch out to steal the grain.
Pigs, they all rootle there,
The fields are full of din and blare,
Time passes as the glean,
The hobby horse whirls round and round
Start of the day the church-bells knell,
And fear to hear the gleaning bell,
We'll toil all day in the last of the hay,
We'll scratch our days away!
Start of the day the church-bells knell,
And fear to hear the gleaning bell,
We'll toil all day in the last of the hay,
We'll scratch our days away!
Stumbling now the gleaning's done,
The farmer's fat hares, slung upon his gun,
Gives "goodnight" as home they pull,
In creaking handcarts bursting full.
Stacked well out of mischief's way,
To thrash and dress another day,
Wives, full of weary pride
With such small riches satisfied
Start of the day the church bell's knell,
And fear to hear the gleaning bell,
We'll toil all day in the last of the hay,
We'll scratch our days away!
Start of the day the church-bells knell,
And fear to hear the gleaning bell,
We'll toil all day in the last of the hay,
We'll scratch our days away!
The neck!
Thanks for the lyrics!
off to see them in November, chuffed to bits
Saw them perform this on the current tour in Shrewsbury
💖❤Fantastic ❤💖
Superb.
Sorry, I didn't read what is written here above. The new album's name is: EST'D 1969
The mandolin player used to be with Bellohead
Holy Cow!!!! This is absolutely AWESOME!!! Please, can someone help me to get the full lyrics? Is this song on any album?
Saw them do this last week on their 50 th anniversary tour.
Its on the Abum -Est d 1969'
@@jonathoncary5926 Thank you so much! I'm so thrilled I have tickets for their 50th anniversary concert in Holland, next November.
CD not yet available in Europe. If somebody has the lyrics, thanks for posting them here !
@@jeanlouislaenens My best attempt at lyrics posted above!
@@vibraphonics Thank you very much Tim !!!
Which Henry?
7
Why have some odd un-English hat on the drummer Maddie?
Perhaps it's a strange Irish affectation.