Appendix 3: Seven Parodies and Contrafacta from The Universal Songster, vols. II-III (1829, 1834)
© M. J. Grant, CC BY-NC 4.0 https://doi.org/10.11647/OBP.0231.15
1. “I’ll drive dull sorrow from my mind”1
Air—“Auld Lang Syne”
My wife she died three months ago,
And left poor I to moan;
My wife she died three months ago,
And now I sleep alone.
I’ll drive dull sorrow from my mind
With wettings of my clay;
And, should I meet a lass that’s kind,
I’ll have a wedding-day.
Then banish sorrow from my heart,
I’ll be so blithe and gay;
And when sly Cupid points his dart,
I will not run away.
2. “’Tis true this life’s a languid stream”2
Air—“Auld Langsyne”
’Tis true this life’s a languid stream,
How dark its course would keep,
If friendship’s sweet and sunny beam,
Smiled not on its cold sleep.
For auld langsyne, my friend,
For auld langsne,
We’ll quaff a cup
Of friendship up
And auld langsyne.
Behold this brimming sparkling bowl,
To friendship quaff it up;
This pure libation, where the soul
Is hovering o’er the cup.
For auld langsyne, &c.
Then mem’ry shall bring back the days
When smiling hope was ours;
Her white wings shedding fairy rays
To light our path of flowers.
For auld langsyne, &c.
But give us Jove’s ambrosial wave,
For we should quaff that stream,
When toasting her, whose ripe lip gave
The kiss of “love’s young dream.”
For auld langsyne, &c.
3. “Winny won’t be mine”3
Air—“Auld lang syne.”—(O’Brien)
I have my goats, a cow, and horse,
And Sunday suit, that’s fine;
And I have something that’s not brass,
Still Winny wo’n’t [sic] be mine.
Still Winny wo’n’t [sic] be mine, I fear.
Still she’ll not be mine;
O Winny wo’nt [sic] be mine, my dear,
No, Winny wo’nt be mine.
We both have gambolled o’er the vale—
I helped to milk her kine,
And quaffed with her my home-brewed ale,
Still Winny wo’n’t be mine.
Still Winny, &c.
On yon high rock we sat to view
The wide spread rolling brine;
It’s there I vowed I would be true,
Still Winny wo’n’t be mine.
Still Winny, &c.
O’er Erin’s western hills so blue,
We see the sun’s decline,
Though grass and spray woo maiden dew,
Still Winny wo’n’t be mine.
Still Winny, &c.
The moon, low trembling in the wave,
Where sailing barks gay shine;
And, like the moon, I trembling crave,
Still Winny wo’n’t be mine.
Still Winny, &c.
She is as placid as she’s fair,
Her person’s beauty shrine;
With me all pleasure she will share,
Still Winny wo’n’t be mine.
Still Winny, &c.
I stopt away, to try my skill,
It chanced to tell; in fine,
We met by chance, —she cried I will,
Indeed, I will be thine.
Indeed, I will be thine, my Taff,
I’ll willingly be thine;
I vow I will be thine, my Taff,
If you’ll be only mine.
4. “Should brandy ever be forgot? A parody”4
Air—“Auld langsyne”
SHOULD brandy ever be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should brandy ever be forgot,
For port or sherry wine?
For port or sherry wine, my friend,
For port or sherry wine;
We’ll tak’ a glass of brandy yet,
And kick away the wine.
And, surely, you’ll your quatern be,
And, surely, I’ll be mine;
And we will drink so merrily,
But we’ll not call for wine.
But we’ll not call, &c.
And here’s six-pence, my own good friend,
Give me six-pence o’ thine;
We’ll for another quartern call,
To wile away the time.
To wile away, &c.
5. “Auld lang syne” (J. H. Dixon)5
O, aft I’ve thought upon the hours
I spent in early years,
When Fancy strewed my path wi’ flowers,
An’ life was free frae cares!
Oh, aft I’ve thought upon the days
When a’ was bliss divine,
The days o’ youth, the happy days
Of auld lang syne!
Of auld lang syne sae dear,
Of auld lang syne;
Oh, dear to me shall ever be
The days o’ lang syne!
When late I sought the village where
I roamed, a careless boy!
How changed, alas! a’ seemed sa drear
An’ sad, where once was joy!
The trees were felled which graced the brook,
Yet still the sun did shine,
An’ sported o’er its breast as erst,
In auld lang syne!
In auld lang syne, &c.
No more upon the village-green
The sportive children played;
No more the aged sires were seen
Beneath the hawthorn’s shade!
The dial fra’ the kirk was ta’en,
That told me aft the time,
And a’ seemed altered sin the days
Of auld lang syne!
Of auld lang syne, &c.
The cot where did my parents dwell
Was mould’ring in decay;
No more its smoke rose in the dell
But a’ in ruin lay!
No cheerfu’ fire glowed on the hearth,
Where once, wi’ friends o’ mine,
I sat at eve, an’ heard the tale
Of auld lang syne!
Of auld lang syne, &c.
Yet still I love the school-boy spot,
Though a’ my friends are gane
(Those friends who ne’er can be forgot,)
An’ I am left alane!
The well-known scenes o’ boyish sports,
To cheer me a’ combine,
An’ recollection, pleased, looks back
On auld lang syne!
On auld lang syne, &c.
Sweet village! ne’er I’ll leave thee more;
When a’ my days shall cease,
In thy kirkyard, my troubles o’er,
I’ll rest mysel’ in peace!
Ah! though I’ve lang a wand’rer been,
Yet, in my life’s decline,
No more I’ll leave the spot which tells
Of auld lang syne!
Of auld lang syne, &c.
6. “Should lovers’ joys be e’er forgot?”6
Air—“Auld lang syne”
SHOULD lovers’ joys be e’er forgot,
Or ever out of mind?
Should lovers’ joys be e’er forgot,
An’ vows sae saft an’ kind?
For vows sae saft an’ kind, my love,
An’ days o’ lang syne,
We’ll tak a glass for pleasures past,
An’ vows o’ lang syne.
We twa hae run about the groves,
And pu’d the flow’rets fine,
But parting scenes hae wrought na change
Sin’ auld lang syne,
For vows sae saft an’ kind, my love, &c.
We twa hae run about the glade,
When simmer days were prime;
But time has broke wi’ us no squares
Sin auld lang syne.
For vows sae saft an’ kind, my love, &c.
An’ there’s a hand, my sonsie lass,
And gies a hand o’ thine,
An’ we’ll taste of bliss before we part,
For auld lang syne.
For vows sae saft an’ kind, my love, &c.
An’ surely you’ll gie me your heart,
As surely I’ll gie mine;
And we’ll tak a kiss before we part,
For auld lang syne.
For vows sae saft an’ kind, my love, &c.
7. “War was proclaimed ’twixt love and I”7
Air—“Auld lang syne.”—(K. O. B.)
WAR was proclaimed ’twixt love and I,
He shot his arrows keen,
Said I, you over-match me, boy,
We’ll rest upon the green.
We’ll rest upon the green, my lad,
We’ll rest upon the green.
A truce he signed, and I was glad,
A willow stood between.
Now many years had passed away,
Secure from Cupid’s smart,
Though age bore part, ah! lack-a-day,
Sigh-tingle went my heart.
Sigh-tingle went my heart, ha, ha!
Sigh-tingle went my heart;
The frigid thing commenced to thaw
Through Cupid’s fervid dart.
Another truce, cried I, sweet child,
I hope you’ll grant to me;
With guile, he answered very mild,
To that, I’ll not agree.
To that, I’ll not agree, when down
I fell, upon my life,
And felt a tingling on my crown
Through tumbling on a wife.
She died one day, in Cupid came,
Saying, gray-beard, there you be,
You’ll require another dame,
Here’s ansother touch at thee;
Here’s another touch at thee, old boy,
Here’s another touch at thee;
His darts he shot, ah! let him plot,
He’ll never more touch me.