Tag Archives: Music Broadsides

The Famous Ratketcher

The Famous Ratketcher

with his travels into France, and of his returne to London

(To the Tune of Tom a Bedlam)

 

There was a rare Rat-catcher,

Did about the Country wander,

The soundest blade of all his trade,

Or I should him greatly slaunder.

          For still would he cry, a Tatt tat at tat

          tara ra rat to ever

          To catch a mouse, or to carouse,

         Such a Ratter I saw never.

 

Upon a Poale he carried

Full fourty fulsome Vermine:

Whose cursed lives without any Knives,

To take he did determine.

        And still would he cry, &c.

 

His talke was all of India

The Voyage and the Navie

What Mice or Rattes or wild Plcats,

What Stoates or Weesels have yee.

          And still would he cry, &c.

 

In London he was well knowne,

In many a stately House

He layde a Bayte, whose deadly fate

Did kill both Ratte and Mouse.

          And still would he cry, &c.

 

But on a time, a Mayden,

Did him so fair entice,

That for her a Baite, he layed straight,

Would kill no Rate nor Mice.

          And still would he cry, &c.

 

And on the baite she nibbled

So pleasing in her taste,

She likt so long, that the Poysin strong,

Did make her swell i’the waiste.

          For still would he cry, &c.

 

He subtly this perceiving,

To the Country straight doth hie him,

Where by his skill, he poysoneth still,

Such vermine as come nigh him.

           And still would he cry, &c.

 

He never careth whether

He be sober, lame, or tipsie,

He cab Collogue with any Rogue,

And cant with any Gipsie,

           And still would he cry, &c.

 

He was so brave a bowzer,

That it was doubtful whether

He taught the Rats, or the Rats taught him

To be drunke as Rats, together.

          And still would he cry, &c.

 

When he had tripped this Islande,

From Bristow unto Dover,

With Paineful Bagge and painted Flagge,

To France he sailed over.

          And still would he cry, a Tatt tat at tat

          tara ra rat to ever

          To catch a mouse, or to carouse,

          Such a Ratter I saw never.

The Happie Obtaining of the Great Galleazzo

The Happie Obtaining of the Great Galleazzo

by Thomas Deloney, who is mysteriously absent at sea

To the tune of Monseurs Almaigne

 

O Noble England, Fall downe upon thy knee,

And praise thy God with thankfull hearte, Which still maintaineth thee.

The forraine forsce, that seeke thy utter spoile,

Shall then through His especiall grace, Be brought to shamefull foile.

With mightie pow’r they come unto our coast,

To overrun our Countrie quite, They make their brags and boast.

 

In strength of men, they set their onley stay,

But we, upon the Lord our God, Will put our trust alway.

 

This great Galleazzo, which was so huge and hye,

That like a bulwarke on the sea, Did seeme to each man’s eye.

There was it taken, unto our great reliefe,

And divers Nobles, in which train, Don Pietro was the chief.

Strong was she stuft, with Cannons great and smalle,

And other instruments of warre, Which we obtained all.

A certaine sign, of good successe we trust,

That God will overthrow the reste, As He hath done the firste.

 

Then did our Navie pursue the rest amaine,

With roaring noise of Cannons great, Till they neere Calais came.

With manly courage, they followed them so faste,

Another muightie Gallion, Did seeme to yield at last.

And in distresse, for safeguard of their lives,

A flag of truce they did hand out, With manie mournefull cries.

Which, when our men, did perfectly espie,

Some little Barkes they sent to her, To board her quietly.

 

This mightie vessel, was threescore yards in lengthe,

Most wonderfull to eache man’s eye, for making and for strength.

In her was placed, an hundreth Cannons greate,

And mightily provided eke, with bread-corne wine and meat.

There were of Oares, two hunderedth I weene,

Threescore foote and twelve in length, well measured to be seene.

And yet subdued, with manie others more,

And not a ship of ours was lost, the Lord be thankt therefore.

 

Lord God Almightie, which hath the heartes in hand,

Of ev’ry person to dispose, defend this Englidh land.

Bless Thou our Soveraigne with long and happie life,

Indue her Counsel with Thy Grace, and end this mortall strife.

Give to the rest, of Commons more and lesse,

Loving heartes, obedient minds, and perfect faithfullnesse.

That they and we, and all with one accord,

On Sion Hill may sing the prayse of our most mightie Lord.

Jolly Good Ale and Old

Jolly Good Ale and Old

(A drynkinge song of much repute)

 

I cannot eat but little meat

My stomach is not good

But sure I think that I can Drink

With him that weareth an Hood.

Though I goe Bare, take you no care

For I am never cold

I stuff my skin so well within

With Jolly good Ale and old.

Back and sides goe bare, goe bare,

          Both hand and foot goe colde,

But belly, God send good Ale enough,

          Be it newe or old.

 

I love no roast but a nut-brown Toast

And a crab laid in the fyre,

A little bread should do me stead,

Much bread I never desire.

Nor Wind nor Snowe or Frost, I trow,

Can harm me if it would,

I am so wrapped, and thoroughly lappt,

With Jolly good Ale and old.

Back and sides goe bare, goe bare, &c.

 

I care right nought, I take no thought

For cloathes to keepe me warm,

Have I good Drink, I surely think

That none can do me harm.

For truly then, I feare no Man,

Though he be ne’er so bold,

When I am armed and thoroughly warmed

With Jolly good Ale and old.

Back and sides goe bare, goe bare, &c.

 

Now let them drink till they nod and wink,

E’en as good Fellowes doe,

They shall not miss to have the bliss

That Good Ale brings them to.

And all poor souls that scour black bowls,

Or have them lustily trolled,

God save the lives of them and their wives

Wether they be younge or old.

Back and sides goe bare, goe bare,

          Both hand and foot goe colde,

But belly, God send good Ale enough,

          Be it newe or old.

 

Soldiers Three

Soldiers Three

We be soldiers three,

Pardonnay moy je vouz ahn pree,

Lately come forth from the low country,

With never a penny of money.

 

Here, good fellow, I drink to thee,

Pardonnay moy je vouz ahn pree,

To all the good fellowes wherever they be,

With never a penny of money.

 

And he that will not pledge me this,

Pardonnay moy je vouz ahn pree,

Pays for the shot, whatever it is,

With never a penny of money.

 

Charge it again, boys, charge it again,

Pardonnay moy je vouz ahn pree,

As long as there is any ink in thy pen,

With never a penny of money.

 

We be soldiers three,

Pardonnay moy je vouz ahn pree,

Lately come forth from the low country,

With never a penny of money.

 

The Jovial Broome-Man

The Jovial Broome-Man

(The tale of a much-travelled man, and how he came to be laid low)

Room for a Lad that’s come from seas,

Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

That gladly now would take his ease,

And therefore make me room, man.

France, the Netherlands, and Spain,

Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

I’ve crossed the seas and back again,

And therefore make me room, man.

 

Yet in these countries there liv’d I,

Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

And valiant soldiers I’ve seen die,

          And therefore make me room, man.

A hundred gallants there I kill’d,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

And besides, a world of blood I spill’d

And therefore make me room, man.

 

In Germanie I took a Towne,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

And threw the walls there upside-down,

          And therefore make me room, man.

At Tilbury Camp with Captain Drake,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

I made the Spanish Fleet to quake

And therefore make me room, man.

 

At Holland’s Leaguer there I fought,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

But there the service prov’d too hot,

          And therefore make me room, man.

Then from the League returned I,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

Naked, hungry, cold and dry,

And therefore make me room, man.

 

When I was drinking at the Cat’s Perch Inn,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

I was set upon by Gardiner’s Men,

          And therefore make me room, man.

Then to make the matter worse,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

They threw me down and stole my purse

And therefore make me room, man.

 

Now have I compass’d the Globe,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man

And I’m return’d as poor as Job,

          And therefore make me room, man.

And now I’m safe returned here,

          Hey, Jolly Broom-Man,

Here’s to you with a cup of English beer,

And therefore make me room, man.

 

 

Of All the Birds That Ever I See

Of All the Birds That Ever I See

(Wherein the men do speak their mind, and the women, theirs.)

Of all the birds

That ever I see,

The owl is the fairest

In her degree.

For all the day long

She sits in a tree,

And when the night comes,

Away flies she.

          To whit, to woo,

          To whom drinks thou,

          Sir Knave, to thee.

          This song is well sung,

          And I make you a vow,

          That he is a knave

          That drinketh now.

          This song is well sung,

          And I make you a vow,

          That he is a knave

          That drinketh now.

          Nose, nose, nose, nose,

          And who gave thee

          That jolly red nose?

          Cinnamint and Ginger,

          Nutmeg and Cloves,

          And that gave thee

          Thy jolly red nose.

          Nose, nose, nose, nose,

          And who gave thee

          That jolly red nose?

         Cinnamint and Ginger,

          Nutmeg and Cloves,

          And that gave thee

          Thy jolly red nose.

(Verse the second, wherein the men do sing:)

I’ll not have a woman

Who’s never been tried,

But give me a wanton

To lie by my side.

And this I do use

As the rule of my life,

That wanton is best

Who’s another man’s wife.

          Nose, nose, &c.

(Verse the third, where the women do answer:)

You’ll not have us, sirs,

Although you may try,

But we do not deign

With drunkards to lie.

For Ale-Knights do claim

Our fields they will plow,

But they always deliver

Much less than they vow.

          Nose, nose, &c.