Lyr Add: Clerk Colvill, Child #42

Subject: Lyr Add: Clerk Colvill, Child #42
From: Felipa
Date: 23 Feb 21 - 09:16 PM

a relationship of this ballad to other songs, including le Roi Renaud and George Collins, has been suggested elsewhere

https://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/child/ch042.htm

42A.1        CLARK COLVEN and his gay ladie,
        As they walked to yon garden green,
        A belt about her middle gimp,
        Which cost Clark Colven crowns fifteen:
42A.2        ‘O hearken weel now, my good lord,
        O hearken weel to what I say;
        When ye gang to the wall o Stream,
        O gang nae neer the well-fared may.’
42A.3        ‘O haud your tongue, my gay ladie,
        Tak nae sic care o me;
        For I nae saw a fair woman
        I like so well as thee.’
42A.4        He mounted on his berry-brown steed,
        And merry, merry rade he on,
        Till he came to the wall o Stream,
        And there he saw the mermaiden.
42A.5        ‘Ye wash, ye wash, ye bonny may,
        And ay’s ye wash your sark o silk:’
        ‘It’s a’ for you, ye gentle knight,
        My skin is whiter than the milk.’
42A.6        He’s taen her by the milk-white hand,
        He’s taen her by the sleeve sae green,
        And he’s forgotten his gay ladie,
        And away with the fair maiden.
        * * * * *
42A.7        ‘Ohon, alas!’ says Clark Colven,
        ‘And aye sae sair’s I mean my head!’
        And merrily leugh the mermaiden,
        ‘O win on till you be dead.
42A.8        ‘But out ye tak your little pen-knife,
        And frae my sark ye shear a gare;
        Row that about your lovely head,
        And the pain ye’ll never feel nae mair.’
42A.9        Out he has taen his little pen-knife,
        And frae her sark he’s shorn a gare,
        Rowed that about his lovely head,
        But the pain increased mair and mair.
42A.10        ‘Ohon, alas!’ says Clark Colven,
        ‘An aye sae sair’s I mean my head!’
        And merrily laughd the mermaiden,
        ‘It will ay be war till ye be dead.’
42A.11        Then out he drew his trusty blade,
        And thought wi it to be her dead,
        But she’s become a fish again,
        And merrily sprang into the fleed.
42A.12        He’s mounted on his berry-brown steed,
        And dowy, dowy rade he home,
        And heavily, heavily lighted down
        When to his ladie’s bower-door he came.
42A.13        ‘Oh, mither, mither, mak my bed,
        And, gentle ladie, lay me down;
        Oh, brither, brither, unbend my bow,
        ’Twill never be bent by me again.’
42A.14        His mither she has made his bed,
        His gentle ladie laid him down,
        His brither he has unbent his bow,
        ’Twas never bent by him again.


42B: Clerk Colvill


42B.1        CLERK COLVILL and his lusty dame
        Were walking in the garden green;
        The belt around her stately waist
        Cost Clerk Colvill of pounds fifteen.
42B.2        ‘O promise me now, Clerk Colvill,
        Or it will cost ye muckle strife,
        Ride never by the wells of Slane,
        If ye wad live and brook your life.’
42B.3        ‘Now speak nae mair, my lusty dame,
        Now speak nae mair of that to me;
        Did I neer see a fair woman,
        But I wad sin with her body?’
42B.4        He’s taen leave o his gay lady,
        Nought minding what his lady said,
        And he’s rode by the wells of Slane,
        Where washing was a bonny maid.
42B.5        ‘Wash on, wash on, my bonny maid,
        That wash sae clean your sark of silk;’
        ‘And weel fa you, fair gentleman,
        Your body whiter than the milk.’
        * * * * *
42B.6        Then loud, loud cry’d the Clerk Colvill,
        ‘O my head it pains me sair;’
        ‘Then take, then take,’ the maiden said,
        ‘And frae my sark you’ll cut a gare.’
42B.7        Then she’s gied him a little bane-knife,
        And frae her sark he cut a share;
        She’s ty’d it round his whey-white face,
        But ay his head it aked mair.
42B.8        Then louder cry’d the Clerk Colvill,
        ‘O sairer, sairer akes my head;’
        ‘And sairer, sairer ever will,’
        The maiden crys, ’Till you be dead.’
42B.9        Out then he drew his shining blade,
        Thinking to stick her where she stood,
        But she was vanishd to a fish,
        And swam far off, a fair mermaid.
42B.10        ‘O mother, mother, braid my hair;
        My lusty lady, make my bed;
        O brother, take my sword and spear,
        For I have seen the false mermaid.’


42C: Clerk Colvill


42C.1        CLERK COLIN and his mother dear
        Were in the garden green;
        The band that was about her neck
        Cost Colin pounds fifteen;
        The belt about her middle sae sma
        Cost twice as much again.
42C.2        ‘Forbidden gin ye wad be, love Colin,
        Forbidden gin ye wad be,
        And gang nae mair to Clyde’s water,
        To court yon gay ladie.’
42C.3        ‘Forbid me frae your ha, mother,
        Forbid me frae your bour,
        But forbid me not frae yon ladie;
        She’s fair as ony flour.
42C.4        ‘Forbidden I winna be, mother,
        Forbidden I winna be,
        For I maun gang to Clyde’s water,
        To court yon gay ladie.’
42C.5        An he is on his saddle set,
        As fast as he could win,
        An he is on to Clyde’s water,
        By the lee licht o the moon.
42C.6        An when he cam to the Clyde’s water
        He lichted lowly down,
        An there he saw the mermaiden,
        Washin silk upon a stane.
42C.7        ‘Come down, come down, now, Clerk Colin,
        Come down an [fish] wi me;
        I’ll row ye in my arms twa,
        An a foot I sanna jee.’
        * * * * *
42C.8        ‘O mother, mother, mak my bed,
        And, sister, lay me doun,
        An brother, tak my bow an shoot,
        For my shooting is done.’
42C.9        He wasna weel laid in his bed,
        Nor yet weel fa’en asleep,
        When up an started the mermaiden,
        Just at Clerk Colin’s feet.
42C.10        ‘Will ye lie there an die, Clerk Colin,
        Will ye lie there an die?
        Or will ye gang to Clyde’s water,
        To fish in flood wi me?’
42C.11        ‘I will lie here an die,’ he said,
        ‘I will lie here an die;
        In spite o a’ the deils in hell
        I will lie here an die.’

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Clerk Colvill, Child #42
From: Felipa
Date: 23 Feb 21 - 09:21 PM

listen at https://katecorwen.bandcamp.com/track/clerk-colville

One of many ballads from across Europe in which a man is doomed to death by his Other-Worldly lover.
We have used the words of Child 42 version B and the only existing melody for them from Mrs Brown (Anna Gordon) of Falkland. The transcribed melody has given rise to endless debate about how the words should fit to the refrain line of the music. We have chosen to sidestep the argument and sing the verses as given omitting the problematic line of melody.

from Fishe or Fowle by Kate Fletcher & Corwen Broch


Clerk Colvill

CLERK COLVILL and his lusty dame
Were walking in yon garden green;
The belt around her stately waist
Cost Clerk Colvill crowns fifteen.

‘O promise me now, Clerk Colvill,
Or it will cost you muckle strife,
Ride never by the wells of Slane,
If you would live and brook your life.’

Oh speak no more my lusty dame,
Oh speak no more of that to me;
Did I ever see a fair woman,
That I would sin with my body?’

And He’s taken leave of his lusty dame,
Not minding what his lady said,
And he’s ridden by the wells of Slane,
Where washing was a bonny maid.

‘Wash on, wash on, my bonny maid,
That wash so clean your sark of silk;’
It's all for you, my gentle knight,
My skin is whiter than the milk.’

And he’s taken her by the milk-white hand,
And likewise by the grass green sleeve
And he's laid her down upon the green
Nor of his lady asked he leave

Then loud, loud cries Clerk Colvill,
‘O my head, my head, it pains me sore;’
‘Then take, then take,’ the maiden said,
‘And from my sark you’ll cut a gore.’

And she’s given him a little bane-knife,
And from her sark he's cut a share;
She’s tied it round his whey-white head,
But ay his head it ached more

And louder cry’d the Clerk Colvill,
O sorer, sorer aches my head;’
And sorer, sorer ever will,’
The maiden cries, 'Till you be dead.’

So out he drew his shining blade,
Thinking to stick her where she stood,
But she is vanished to a fish,
And away she swam, a fair mermaid.

‘O mother, mother, braid my hair;
Come lusty lady, make my bed;
O brother, take my sword and spear,
For I have seen the false mermaid.’

from Fishe or Fowle, released January 5, 2017
Words & Music: Trad, arr K Fletcher & C Broch

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Clerk Colvill, Child #42
From: Felipa
Date: 23 Feb 21 - 09:26 PM

as sung by Raymond Croke https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EB5hCMs7uCQ
and by
Frankie Armstrong https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpeDxvH-bsU

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Clerk Colvill, Child #42
From: Reinhard
Date: 24 Feb 21 - 02:33 AM

See the thread Penguin: George Collins which also refers to Le Roi Renaud.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Clerk Colvill, Child #42
From: GUEST,matt milton
Date: 24 Feb 21 - 04:59 AM

Me too!
Clerk Colville voice and guitar by Matt Milton

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Clerk Colvill, Child #42
From: Felipa
Date: 24 Feb 21 - 11:40 AM

Reinhard, that's the thread that led me to search for lyrics of Clerk Colvill/ The similarity of George Collins to the ballad Lady Alice, also mentioned in that discussion, is clear but I don't see a correspondence with Clerk Colvill.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Clerk Colvill, Child #42
From: Steve Gardham
Date: 25 Feb 21 - 10:17 AM

Absolutely correct, Felipa. They have a vague resemblance in their subject matter that's all, but George Collins certainly=Lady Alice if you look at the earliest 18thc versions. They are not just similar, they are parts of the same ballad.