I love singing Peter Bellamy's

I Once Lived In Service

I once lived in service to a lady so fine
I've served her by night and by day-O
I've carried the dishes when the lady would dine
And after, I cleared them away

Oh dear me, how can it be?
The life of a servant is all slavery.

I've made up her bed and I turned down her sheets
I ironed the dresses she wore-O
I've peeled her potatoes, I've roasted her meats
And 'twas I, with me broom, swept her floor


Oh dear me, how can it be?
The life of a servant is all misery.

I scrubbed her front doorstep, I polished her plate
I put coals in the pan for her bed-O
I've rose before sunlight to blacklead her grate
And at midnight I've laid down my head

Oh dear me, how can it be?
The life of a servant is all drudgery.

I've carried her water, I've answered her door
I've polished the shoes for her feet-O
And when she went to church, then her prayer-book I bore
Behind as she marched down the street

Oh dear me, how can it be?
The life of a servant's a penance to me.

Now, I met a young man in the village one day
As I run to the shop for her bread-O
He's asked me my name, but I had to away
Lest me mistress should break me poor head

Oh dear me, how can it be?
The life of a servant has no liberty.

So that night as I lay in my attic so bare
I resolved that I would run away-O
And all for to honour the waggoner's fare
Some silver spoons took for me pay

Oh dear me, how can it be?
The life of a servant is melancholy.

Now I lie in prison but I will not weep
Who knows what tomorrow may hold-O
There's some fine lads in here for me company to keep
There's strong arms to keep me from cold

Oh dear me, how can it be?
The life of a convict is all chivalry!

Now I've known confinement the most of me years
Small freedom did I ever ken-O
Some prisons, sure, they have no cold iron bars
But some prisons, why, they have no men!

Oh dear me, how can it be?
The life of a convict's a pleasure to me
Dear me, how can it be?
The life of a servant was never so free!

Barry