30 Oct 00 - 06:20 PM (#330696) Subject: Lyr Add: OF CATESBY FAUX AND GARNET From: GUEST,Bruce O. A SONG
Of Catesby, Faux, and Garnet,
All on the 4th of November, [1605
Soe many Barrells of Gunpowder,
Why we should all have been slaine outright,
O Varlets that esteeme noe more
But now these Papists their designs
For our King he went to the Parliament
Then, "Powder I smell," quothe our gracious King
And when he came the Cellar into,
Then the Noble-men that there stood by
[This seems to be the earliest extant ditty on the gunpowder plot. No tune cited in MS.]
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24 Oct 02 - 12:16 AM (#809849) Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Guy Fawkes / Gunpowder Plot From: *#1 PEASANT* anyone know the MS source for this one.... Conrad |
28 Feb 05 - 11:59 AM (#1422990) Subject: Folklore: Oldest Guy Fawkes/11/5 gunpowder songs From: *#1 PEASANT* So far in my travels I have come up with two 17th century ones- both dates a bit fuzzy.... Anyone know any earlier? (there are a few other Psalmlike/sermon ones but not ballads/songs exactly) 1663-1664 The Loyal Subject (as it is reason) Drinks Good Sack and is Free from Treason Come let's drink the time invites, Winter and cold weather, for to pass away long nights, And to keep good wits together; Better far than Cards or Dice, Or Isaac's Balls that quaint Device, made up of Fan and feather, Of grand Actions on the Seas, We will ne'er be jealous, Give us Liquor that will please, and will make us braver fellows Than the bold Venetian Fleet, When the Turks and they do meet, within the Dardonellows. Mahomet was no Divine, But a senseless Widgeon, To forbid the use of Wine unto those of his Religion; false sickness was his shame, And his Throne shall have the blame, for all his whispering Pidgeon, Valentia that famous Town, and the French-mens wonder, Water it imploy'd to drown, and to cut their Traps asunder; Turene cast a helpless look, Whilst the crafty Spaniards took, La-Ferta and his Plunder, Therefore Water we disdain, Mankinds adversary, Once it caus'd the worlds whole frame in a Deluge to miscarry; Nay the Enemies of Joy, Seek with Cavy to destroy, And murder good Canary. Sack's the Princes surest Guard, if he would but try it, No rebellion e'r was heard, where the Subjects soundly ply it, And three Constables at most, Are enough to quell an host, that thus disturb our quiet. Drink about your full brim Bowls, See there be no Shrinking, For to quench your thirsty Souls, we of Protests are not thinking, But a way we will devise How to make our colours rise, and Noses rich with drinking Cause the rubies to appear in their Orient Lustre, Pottle Pots bring up the Rear, for our forces we must muster, Senior Gallon leads the Van, He hath taken many a man, and downs them on a Cluster, Sack it doth inspire the Will, Though the Brain be muddy, Some that ne'r knew nothing yet, by it's vertue falls to Study; He that tipples up good Sack, Finds sound Marrow in the Back, that's wholsom for the Belly. All the faculties of Man, Are inriched by this Treasure, He that First this Bowl began, let him give to all his measure: Sack is like Aetherial fire, Which doth kindle new desire, to do a woman Pleasure. Sack doth make the Spirit bold, 'tis like the Muses Nectar, Some that Silent tongues did hold, now can speak a learned Lecture, By the flowing of the Tub, They can break Alcidds Club, and take the Crown from Hector. We ne'r covet to be Rich, With Commerse or Trading, Nor have we no zealous Itch, Though our quondam means is fading, But our Revels and our Store And Wits, is how to get more good Sack, and tha's our lading. We that drink good Sack in Plate, To make us blithe and jolly, Never Plot against the State, To be punish'd for such folly, But the merry Glass and Pipe, Makes our Senses quick and ripe, and expels Melancholly. See the Squibs, and hear the Bells the fifth day of November, The Preacher a sad Story tells, And with horror doth remember, how some dry-braind traitors wrought Plots, that would to ruine brought, both king and every Member. We that drink, have no such thoughts, blind and void of Reason. We take care to fill our Vaults, With good Wine at every season, And with many a cheerful Cup, We blow one another up, and that's our only Treason. -Crouch, E. London; Coles, F. London; Vere, T. London; Wright, J. London 1663 and 1674 Imprint: London, Printed by E.C. for F. Coles, T. Vere and J. Wright 4o Rawl. 566(84) 1667-1673 A Song Of Catesby, Faux, and Garnet, a story I'le you tell-a, And of a Rare Plott, ne're to be forgott, And eke how it befell-a. All on the 4th of November, 1605 the Papists they had a drift-a Quite to destroy brave England's joy, And to blow it all up on the fifth-a. Soe many Barrells of Gunpowder, the like was never seen-a, That eke that match had chanc'd to catch, Good Lord, where should we all have been-a? Why we should all have been slaine outright, for marke what these varlets had don- a, They had sett so many Barrells to decide all our Quarrells, Nay they had don't as sure as a Gun-a. [done it O Varlets that esteeme noe more 3 Kingdoms than 3 shillings! It were a Good deed to hang 'm with Speed,- Oh out uppon them Villaines! But now these Papists their designs we care not for a louse-a; For fit as it was, it soe came to passe The the Plot was blown up, not the house-a. For our King he went to the Parliament to meet his Noble Peers-a; But if he had knowne where he should have been blown, He durst not have gon for his Eares-a. Then, "Powder I smell," quothe our gracious King (now our King was an excellent smeller); And lowder and lowder, quoth the King, "I smell powder"; And downe he run into the Cellar. And when he came the Cellar into, and was the danger amid-a, He found that the traine had not been in vaine, Had he not come downe as he did-a. Then the Noble-men that there stood by and heard the words of the King-a,- "Ah, my Soul, if the Fire had come a little higher, 'Twould have made vs all flye without wings-a! No tune cited in MS. London, British Library, Additional MS 18220 (BLa20) Of Catesby Faux and Garnet BLa20*161 (f. 125r-v) Manuscript 18220 POLITICAL and other poems, epigrams, etc., with a few pieces in prose, collected by John Watson, apparently during the years 1667-1673,although some of the pieces have earlier dates. The names of the persons from whom he obtained them are noted at the end of the several compositions. On the fly-leaf is the note, "Jo. Watson. Ex dono Dæ Barb. Rhodes, viduæ Mri Joan. Rhodes, Decemb. 5, 1667," Paper. Octavo [Add. 18,220.] |