I will turn you into a toad, That on the ground doth wend; And won, won, shall thou never be, Till this world hath an end.
Now on the sand near Ida’s tower, She crawls a loathsome toad, And venom spits on every maid She meets upon her road.
The virgins all of Bambrough town, Will swear that they have seen This spiteful toad, of monstrous size, Whilst walking they have been.
All folks believe within the shire The story to be true, And they all run to Spindleston, The cave and trough to view.
This fact now Duncan Frasier Of Cheviot, sings in rhyme; Lest Bambrough-shire-men should forget Some part of it in time.
On Bamboroughshire’s rocky shore, Just as you enter _Bowmer_ Raw, There lives the bonny fisher lad, The fisher lad that bangs them a’. O the bonny fisher lad, That brings the fishes fra’ the sea; O the bonny fisher lad, The fisher lad gat had of me.
My mother sent me out one day, To gather cockles fra’ the sea; But I had not been long away, When the fisher lad gat had of me. O the bonny, &c.
A sailor I will never marry, Nor soldier, for he’s got no _brass_; But I will have a fisher lad Because I am a fisher’s lass. O the bonny, &c.
The kye are come hame, But I see not my hinny, The kye are come hame, But I see not my bairn: I’d rather lose all the kye Than lose my hinny, I’d rather lose all the kye Than lose my bairn.
Fair fac’d is my hinny, His blue eyes are bonny, His hair in curl’d ringlets Hang sweet to the sight; O mount the old poney, Seek after my hinny, And bring to his mammy Her only delight.
_A lamentable Ditty made upon the death of a worthy gentleman, named GEORGE STOOLE, dwelling sometime on Gate-side Moor, and sometime at Newcastle, in Northumberland: with his penitent end._ [c. 1610.]
Come you lusty Northerne lads, That are so blith and bonny, Prepare your hearts to be full sad, To heare the end of Georgy. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho my bonny love, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho my honny; Heigh-ho, heigh-ho my owne deare love, And God be with my Georgie.
When Georgie to his triall came, A thousand hearts were sorry, A thousand lasses wept full sore, And all for love of Georgie. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho my bonny love, Heigh-ho, &c.
Some did say he would escape, Some at his fall did glory: But these were clownes and fickle friends, And none that loved Georgy. Heigh-ho, &c.