Lyr/Chords Req: Old Leather Breeches / Britches

Subject: Lyr Add: THE BREECHES (from Bodleian)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 01 Oct 13 - 01:14 PM

I also added punctuation to the following song also. I hope it makes the meaning more clear—but see my footnote.

From The Bodleian collection: Harding B 25(276). (There is another inferior copy at Johnson Ballads 1367, with lots of typos.)


THE BREECHES

Through innocence, an honest friend
Revealed to me the other night
How he in rapture stole to bed
To his true love and fond delight.
Some time with her he toyed and kissed.
At length she said, "You must be gone."
And who could blame her to be vexed?
The rogue he kept his breeches on.

In pensive mood, this young man seemed
Much grieved at what she had expressed.
She then replied, "You simpleton,
Who would be with you but undressed?"
I commend this charming maid
For what she had said and done.
She should have kicked him out of bed
For coming with his breeches on.

Her comely grace and beauteous face
Much fairer than the white lily;
He golden ringlets were
Dangling down her genteelly.
Her limbs complete, her carriage neat,
Like Venus as she moved along,
I wish I had her in my arms
And I with my breeches on!*

Had I this fair maid in an undress
Around her I would gently twine;
My lips to her I would gently press.
Perhaps to me she would incline,
Not like the clown who now repines
The losing of his only one.
He now repents and sore laments
That he kept his breeches on.

Not like this silly empty clown,
Who would not please a beauteous maid?
While he is alive or doth survive,
May every female him degrade!
Pray that he may always be
A laughing stock to every one,
And when he is dead and in his grave
May the old one wear his breeches on.

Come, all you young men; be advised by me,
And never see a maiden distressed.
Not like the clown, he does not know
What raptures flow from being kissed.
So elevate the flowing bowl
And toast a health to each young man!
Likewise the maid who does not fear
A man without his breeches on.


[* Wouldn't this line make more sense as: "And I without my breeches on"? It would also scan better. But both printed editions have it as above.]

Subject: RE: Lyr/Chords Req: Old Leather Breeches / Britches
From: MartinRyan
Date: 01 Oct 13 - 12:16 PM

That mangled line scans and rhymes if you rephrase it slightly to:


"Then the breeches he cut all around by his knee,
Sayin', "No more shall the boys making game of me be."

Regards

Subject: Lyr Add: PAT AND THE BREECHES (from Bodleian)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 01 Oct 13 - 12:04 PM

I suspect this was intended to be a recitation, not a song, because it was printed without stanza breaks, and it does not easily separate into stanzas of consistent length. For ease of reading, I inserted breaks where they seem convenient. I also improved the punctuation and removed some dialect ("wid" for "with," etc.).

From the Bodleian collection, Harding B 11(2959)

PAT AND THE BREECHES

It was on Patrick's morning Mick Hurley came down
From Connaught to Dublin to see the big town.
With a stick in his fist a pipe in his jaw,
He wondered and stared at the strange sights he saw,
And as he walked along, people thought him a ninny,
But no matter for that, faith, he picked up a guinea.

"St. Patrick's blessing is on me this morning.
In a dream long ago myself had the warning:
If I come down to Dublin, I should find great riches,
So now I'll go buy me a new pair of breeches,
For the ones I've got on are both ragged and torn,
And they were my father's before I was born,
And none knows next what St. Patrick may send,
For I'm sure of good luck if he stands as my friend."

Then on he did trudge while each shop he did eye
To see any place where he breeches could buy,
Till after enquiring and searching about,
He spied a new pair from a shop hanging out.
They were dandies of leather with buttons and bows,
So to cheapen the breeches, in Mike Hurley goes.

When he got in the shop, what should he behold
But a monkey that sat on the table so bold.
He was dressed in a jacket, a cap, and a feather.
He seemed a queer chap to make breeches of leather.
"If you are the master, which seems plain and sure,
What's the price of those breeches which hang at your door?"

But Jack kept chattering and grinning away.
"Devil a word," then says Mike, "can I tell what you say,
And Mr. Jackecne, is it game that you're making,
Or why don't you tell me the price you'll be taking?
But, may be, you think I've no money to pay,
But you are mistaken on this blessed day!"

Then his money threw down, nor e'er dreamed of a trick,
Which Jocko soon pinned and popped into a nick
That went into the till; then he mounts up aloft
And grinned down, as much as to say that Paddy was soft.
"Come down out o' that, you ugly old Jew,
Or this stick in my fist shall beat your hide blue."

The man of the shop through a window could see
As he sat at his dinner the whole of the spree.
Seeing Jocko in danger, he entered the shop,
And but just in time Mick's strong arm to stop.

"Whatever's the matter?" says the shopman to Mick.
"Your old grandfather there has popped into that nick
My good guinea, and see how he grins in my face!
But I'll have satisfaction ere I leave this place,
And there shall not be a bone in his body left whole
If he does not bring it out of that diagram hole."

Then the man got the guinea which soon Mick appeased.
He tried on the breeches and seemed mighty pleased.
Now these breeches were made of the soft kind of leather
That would stretch every way it exposed to the weather.
They fill well about the knee, or pull down to the calf,
And could just fit a giant as well as a dwarf.

The breeches being on and the bargain being made,
The shopman brought the scales, Mick's guinea to weigh,
Which proved short of weight, just three thirteens.
"Oh," says Mike, "how I'm robbed by the Dublin jackeens!
I wish I had hold of that fellow that made it.
I'd make him remember the hour he paid it."

So grumbling and swearing he took up his change
And into the City again went to range.
He next to the big Custom House made his way
To see all the ships going out to sea.
From a rope that was passing his heels got a trip.
He soused over head by the keel of the ship.

Mick with boat-hooks was fished up in a crack,
While he shook and shivered like a dog in a sack,
And with pulling and hauling him out of the river,
To his ankles they pulled his breeches of leather.
When Mick saw his breeches, he looked rather blue,
Which he strove to pull up but they still longer grew,
Till they reached from his chin nearly over his feet,
Which was gallows fine fun for the boys in the street.

Said one: "Look at Pat with his buff pantaloons!"
Said another: "He's one of the Connaught dragoons!"
Such jeering and giggling no mortal could stand,
So he ran up an alley with a knife in his hand.
Then the breeches he cut all around by his knee,*
Saying, "No more shall the boys be game making."*

Mike next sought a place where he might repose,
And likewise a fire where he might dry his clothes.
Mike was soon at the fire sat smoking in clover
Thinking full sure his troubles were all over.
Now the breeches that stretched so willing when wet,
When they came to the fire to their old place would get.

Mike felt something move, and to his surprise,
The knees of his breeches marched up to his thighs.
"Och!" says he, "I'm surrounded with fairies and witches,
For see how they're running away with my breeches."
Still the breeches kept moving when Mike gave a cry:
"O bring me the clergy or I'm sure I shall die!"

When the clergyman came, he gave him a blessing
And likewise a pair of his breeches to dress him.
"Now," says he, "I neither fear fairies nor witches.
They dare not come near me now I've got the parson's breeches."
But to shorten my story, Mike when out one day,
Again in the City to pass time away,
When under his feet what should he espy
But another gold guinea on the pavement did lie.

"Ah, you glittering thief, is it there you are lying?
To tempt some poor boy sure the fairies are trying.
You look just as harmless as harmless can be,
But the devil may take you, for it shall not be,
For it was by your brother—bad luck to such riches!—
That I lost three-and-ninepence and spoiled my new breeches."

[* The lack of a rhyme here makes me think some lines may be missing, or there is some other error, but this is the way I found it.]

Subject: Lyr Add: HODGE AND HIS LEATHER BREECHES
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 30 Sep 13 - 10:18 PM

The Bodleian Library has several copies of this broadside, for example, Johnson Ballads 1216. Sometimes the title is simply "Leather Breeches."


HODGE AND HIS LEATHER BREECHES.
Tune—Lunnun is the Devil.

Although a simple clown, my life passed sweet as honey,
Till feyther died in town, and left me all his money:
Some twenty pounds or more, with harrows, ploughs, and ditches;
With grunters half a score, and a pair o' leather breeches.
    Rumpty, bumpty, &c.

As pleased I were as fun, and dressed myself up natty.
Thinks I, the girls each one must think I very pratty.
Wi' fortin [=fortune] quite content, grief gave my heart no twitches;
So to church on Sunday went, to sport my leather breeches!
    Rumpty, bumpty, &c.

But coming home, oh! dear, some boys did jeer and flout me.
They filled my mind with fear, as they all flocked about me.
They 'gainst me did conspire, soused me in ponds and ditches,
And soon wi' mud and mire they daubed my leather breeches.
    Rumpty, bumpty, &c.

I next did go to woo a damsel young and dapper,
But she at me looked blue, and ding-dong went her clapper.
Says she, "I hates your plan, my heart agin you retches,
'Cause I can't bear a man wot wears them leather breeches."
    Rumpty, bumpty, &c.

To Lunnun I set off, my spirits just to rally,
But each one did me scoff, in court, in street, and alley.
My woes came not by halves; I got insulting speeches.
One fellow bawled out "Calves!" another, "Twig his breeches."
    Rumpty, bumpty, &c.

A lass I met one night, as I for fun was dodging.
I thought myself all right, and with her took a lodging.
Next morn how I did curse the gal, and all sic wretches—
When I found she'd boned my purse, my watch, an' leather breeches!
    Rumpty, bumpty, &c.

I left the house quite hurt; it rained and blew together.
Exposed all in my shirt, I were to wind and weather.
The women from me fled. I did not rue my riches,
But i'd ha' given my head to have my leather breeches!
    Rumpty, bumpty, &c.

A policeman passing by, on duty never dosing,
And off to quod hiked I, my person for exposing.
The justice spoke his will, and with upbraiding speeches,
He sent me to the mill, all through my leather breeches.
    Rumpty, bumpty, &c.

But now once more I'm free, and by the coach to-morrow,
From Lunnun I will flee, and try to drown my sorrow.
Once more to plough I'll go. A fig for pride and riches!
No more I'll be a beau, nor sport my leather breeches.
    Rumpty, bumpty, &c.

Subject: RE: Lyr/Chords Req: Old Leather Breeches / Britches
From: MartinRyan
Date: 30 Sep 13 - 11:25 AM

I hear this one a few times a year. WIsh I cold remember what the curse in the last verse is! Neither "jack-straws" nor "Saint Jackstone" make much sense.


Regards

Subject: Lyr Add; PADDY HEGARTY'S OLD LEATHER BREECHES
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 30 Sep 13 - 11:16 AM

I ran across this song while searching for songs about breeches, but this song didn't fit the theme of the other thread: Lyr Req: wearing the britches / breeches (where "wearing the breeches" is a metaphor for being the dominant member of a household). Enough words are different from the version posted above that I figured it would be worth having; plus, there is a known date and source for this one.

This song comes from The Red, White & Blue Monster Song Book, edited by John Diprose (London: J. A. Berger, 1860), page 272:


PADDY HEGARTY'S OLD LEATHER BREECHES.

It was at the sign of the Bell, on the road to Clonmel,
    Paddy Hegarty kept a neat shebeen.
He sold pig's meat and bread, kept a good lodgin' bed,
    And so well liked round the country had been.
Himself and his wife, both struggled through life.
    In the week days, Pat mended the ditches,
But on Sunday he dressed in a coat of the best,
    But his pride was his old leather breeches.
        Fol de rol, &c.

For twenty-one years, at least so it appears,
    His father those breeches had run in.
The morning he died, he to his bedside
    Called Paddy, his beautiful son, in.
Advice then he gave, ere he went to the grave.
    He bid him take care of his riches.
Says he: "It's no use to pop into my shoes,
    But I wish you'd step into my breeches."

Last winter the snow left provisions so low,
    Poor Paddy was eat out completely.
The snow coming down, he could not go to town.
    Thoughts of hunger soon bothered him greatly.
One night as he lay dreaming away
    About creedougs, frogs and witches,
He heard an uproar just outside of the door,
    And he jumped to steel on his ould breeches.

Says Bryan M'Guirk, with a voice like a Turk:
    "Paddy, come get us some eating."
Says big Andy Moore: "I'll burst open the door,
    For this is no night to be waiting."
Scarce had he spoke when the door went in broke,
    And they crowded round Paddy like leeches.
By the great mortal gob, if he didn't get them prog,
    They'd eat him clean out of his breeches.

Now Paddy in dread slipped into his bed,
    That held Judy, his darling wife in,
And there he agreed to get them a feed.
    He slipped out and brought a big knife in.
He took up the waist of his breeches, the beast,*
    And cut out the buttons and stitches,
And cut them in stripes by the way they were tripes,
    And boiled them, his ould leather breeches.

When the tripes were stewed, on a dish they were strewed.
    The boys all cried out: "Lord-be-thanked!"
But Hegarty's wife was afraid of her life.
    She thought it high time for to shank it,
To see how they smiled, for they thought Pat had boiled*
    Some mutton and beef of the richest,
But little they knew it was leather burgoo,
    That was made out of Paddy's ould breeches.

They walloped the stuff; says Andy: "It's tough."
    Says Paddy: "You're no judge of mutton,"
When Bryan M'Quirk, on the point of a fork,
    Lifted up a big ivory button.
Says Darby: "What's that? Sure I thought it was fat."
    Bryan leaps on his legs, and he screeches:
"By the powers above! I was trying to shove
    My teeth through the flap of his breeches."

They all made at Pat; he was gone out of that.
    He run when he found them all rising.
Says Bryan: "Make haste, and go for the priest.*
    By the holy saint Jackstone, I'm poisoned!"
Revenge for the joke they had for they broke
    All the chairs, tables, bowls and dishes,
And from that very night, they will knock out your daylight,
    If they catch you with leather breeches."


[* For these words, the internal rhyme implies a dialectical pronunciation.]

The Bodleian Library broadside collection contains several versions of this song. The titles vary somewhat:
PADDY HAGERTY'S LEATHER BREECHES
PADDY HAGGERTY'S LEATHER BREECHES
PADDY HEGARTY'S LEATHER BREECHES
PAT HAGGARTY'S BREECHES
PATS LEATHER BREECHES

Subject: RE: old leather britch's
From: MMario
Date: 20 Nov 00 - 08:12 PM

thank you MoH

Subject: RE: old leather britch's
From: McGrath of Harlow
Date: 20 Nov 00 - 07:07 PM

It's the same tune as Nell Flaherty's Drake, or near enough. And the tune is on the end of that DT link.

Subject: RE: old leather britch's
From: MMario
Date: 20 Nov 00 - 05:19 PM

I'm patient.

Subject: RE: old leather britch's
From: Homeless
Date: 20 Nov 00 - 05:17 PM

Probably not, but I'll have him teach it to me on whistle and I'll figure out some way to get it in. I'll have to wait until after the holidays tho - he's gone across the country now, and I'll be gone by the time he gets back.

Subject: RE: old leather britch's
From: MMario
Date: 20 Nov 00 - 05:04 PM

if "a friend who knows the tune" has any way of putting it down so we can add it ????? (hint, hint, hint)

Subject: RE: old leather britch's
From: Homeless
Date: 20 Nov 00 - 04:55 PM

MMario - Thank you! It was looking for this song that brought me to the Mudcat almost a year ago (and a year before that). But no one had claimed knowledge to this version (I'd seen it in a book before).

I can finally send the lyrics to a friend of mine that knows the tune. Talk about taking a load off one's shoulders.

Subject: Lyr Add: OLD LEATHER BREECHES
From: MMario
Date: 20 Nov 00 - 03:51 PM

better late then never- lyrics


Old Leather Breeches!

At the sign of the bell, on the road to Clonmell,
Paddy Flaherty kept a neat Sheeheen,
He sold pigs meat and bread, and had a fine lodging bed,
And so well liked round the country, had been him;
Himself and his wife, they struggled through life,
On week days, Pat mended the ditches,
But on Sundays he dressed in a coat of the best,
But his pride was in his old Leather Breeches.

For twenty-one years, or so, it appears,
His father these Breeches had run in,
The night that he died, to his bed-side
Called Paddy, his beautiful son, in:
The advice that he gave, ere he went to his grave,
Was for him to take care of his riches,
Says he "It's no use to walk in my shoes,
But I pray you to step into my Breeches."

Last winter's snow laid provisions so low,
That Paddy was ate out completely,
And the snow coming down, he could not get to town,
So the hunger bothered him greatly.
One night as he lay dreaming away,
Of big dogs, frogs and witches,
He heard an uproar, just outside of his door,
And he up for to pull on his Breeches.

Says Bryan McGurk, with the voice of a Turk,
"Now Paddy, come get us some eating"
Says big Andy Moore, "I'll burst open the door,
For this is no night to be waiting"
Just as they spoke, the door went in broke,
They crouded around Paddy like leeches,
They swore by the magog, that if he did not get them prog,
That they would eat him right out of his Breeches.

Paddy, in dread slipped into bed,
That held Judy his own darling wife in,
Where he quickly agreed for to get them a feed.
And he out and brought a big knife in;
He took up the waist of the Breeches, the beast,
And he cut out the buttons and stitches,
Then cut them in stripes, by the way they were tripes,
And he boiled them-- his old Leather Breeches.

When the Breeches were stewed, on a dish they were strewed.
The boys all cried out Lord-be-thanked,
But Flagherty's wife, in dread for her life,
She thought it high time for to shank it;
The boys they all smiled, for they thought Pat had boiled
Some mutton or beef of the richest,
But little they knew it was Leather Burgoo,
Made of Paddy's old worn out Breeches!

They swallowed the stuff, says Darby "It's tough,"
Says Pat "You're no judge of good mutton,"
When Brian McGurk, on the point of a fork,
Lifted up a big Ivory Button!
Says "What's that, I thought it was fat,"
Brian jumps on his legs, and he screeches--
"By the powers above, I'm striving to shove
My teeth through the flap of his Breeches."

They all made at Pat, he was gone out of that,
For he ran, when he saw them all rising,
Says Darby "Make haste, and go down for the priest,
By the holy jack-straws, I am poisoned."
In revenge for the joke, they up and they broke
All the chairs, tables, aad dishes;
And ever since that night, they'll knock out your day-light,
If they catch you with the Old Leather Breeches.

Subject: RE: old leather britch's
From: GUEST,Gene
Date: 02 May 00 - 07:58 PM

A previous post - * CLICK HERE *

Subject: RE: old leather britch's
From: MartinRyan
Date: 02 May 00 - 06:21 PM

Try HERE for one version. It came up in passing in an earlier thread (Cow ate piper!), alright, MMario.

Regards

Subject: RE: old leather britch's
From: harpgirl
Date: 02 May 00 - 06:03 PM

...are you referring to "Pioneers" in the DT?

Subject: RE: old leather britch's
From: MMario
Date: 02 May 00 - 05:13 PM

I know we discussed this not too long ago...but I cannot find the thread. drat!

Subject: RE: old leather britch's
From: kendall
Date: 02 May 00 - 04:54 PM

you wouldn't be referring to "George Fox" would you? in his old leather britches and shaggy shaggy locks.. he is tearing down the pillars of the world George Fox..

Subject: old leather britch's
From: GUEST,sajumikey
Date: 02 May 00 - 04:47 PM

Hi I'm looking for words and chords to an old song called, I believe "me old leather britch's" which as you can guess is a humerous song about a pair of leather pants