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13 May 03 - 01:55 AM (#951545) Subject: Lyr Req: Death Of The Fox (Magpie Lane) From: Raedwulf Anyone got the words, please? I know this is on the Bodleian library site, but that doesn't seem to be working properly (for the last couple of weeks I can't bring any of the images up & I can't find a contact e-mail to ask them about this!). Many Thanks |
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13 May 03 - 08:22 AM (#951672) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Death Of The Fox (Magpie Lane) From: ooh-aah Alas I've just lent my tape to a friend, so I can only remember bits: Some gentlemen take great delight In hunting bold Reynard the fox On yon stony(? common I lived And I lived upon fat geese and ducks I lived upon fat geese and ducks Never knowing so soon I should die I was chased by a pack of fresh hounds Which caused me my country to fly As through the wide country I rambled I lived an extravagent rate Young lambs I took for me living The farmers they all did me hate All for me lords hounds they did send, Cherry Blossom (a hound?)he swore I should die But I left two brothers behind me Who luck have had better than I. At least one missing verse about the chase here Twas down in yon ....? they killed Oh there I was forced to die The hounds they tore me to pieces They made me old jacket to fly So now you bold Reynard have killed You may go to the Dolphin and dine And dip my foot (?) in a full bumper And drink my lord's health in good wine. Sorry I can't remember more... if you're really keen, ask again in a week or two, when I should have my tape back. |
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13 May 03 - 08:57 AM (#951691) Subject: Lyr Add: DEATH OF THE FOX (from Bodleian) From: MMario DEATH OF THE FOX Harding B 25(492) Some gentlemen take great delight. In hunting bold Reynard the fox, Near yon stony common he lived, and fed upon fat geese and ducks. He fed upon all the good thigns Nor thinking so soon he should die, But was chased by a pack of fresh hounds, And made from his country to fly. through the wild country he ranbled And liv'd at an extravagant rate, Young lambs he picked up for his living, the farmers they all did him hate; The lord for the king's hounds did send, Jerry Bislon swore she should die, But he left two brothers behind him, That loved young lambs better than he. Through the wild country he ran, The blood thirsty hounds did him follow, It made his old coat stand an end, To hear how the hunstman (sic) did hallo. Oftimes has he been surprised. By dogs that would run like a cow, but of all the times in his life, He ne'er got a breathing till now. Forty five miles he ran them, All in five hours space, O pardon dear huntsman and hounds, So swiftly you follow the chace. It was near Simon Stewards he ran, The game keeper shot through the thigh, O pardon dear huntsman and hounds, By this fatal wound he will die. In the stoney fields they killed there he was forced to die, The hounds tore him all to pieces, The made his old coat for to fly since they bold reynard have kill'd They may go the the dolphin and dine, And put his foot in a full bumper, Do drink you Lords health in wood wine. DEATH OF THE FOX Firth c.19(102) Some gentlemen take great delight In huntin bold Reynard the fox Near yon stony common I lived, And fed upon fat geese and ducks. I fed upon fat geese and ducks, Not thinking so soon I should die, I was chased by a pack of fresh hounds, which caused me my country to fly. As through the wild country I rambled, I lived at an extravagant rate; Young lambs I pick'd up for my living; the farmers they all did me hate. The lords for the hing's hounds did send; Jerry Balsom he swore I should die; But I left two brothers behind me, Who love young lambs better than I. As through the wild country I ran, The blood-thirsty hounds did me follow; It made my old coat stand on end, to hear how the huntsmen did halloo. Ofttimes have I been sore surprised By dogs that would run like a cow; But in all the dire times of my life I e'er got a breathing till now. Full forty-five miles I did run; I ran it in five hours' space. O pradon, dear huntsmen and hounds, so sweetly you followed the chase. It was near Simon Stewart's I ran, The gamekeeper shot thorugh my thigh; O pardon dear huntsmen and hounds, by this fatal wound I must die. Twas in the fields stony they kill'd O there I was forced to die; The hounds they all tore me to pieces they made my old Jacket to fly Now since you bold Reynard have kill'd You may go to the Dolphin and dine, And dip my foot in a full bumper, And drink your lord's health in good wine. |
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13 May 03 - 09:00 AM (#951695) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Death Of The Fox (Magpie Lane) From: Malcolm Douglas See also Bold Reynard [DT] Reynard the Fox Lyrics request: June Tabor stuff (old) Also two entries at folkinfo.org Bold Reynard (as DT file, but with more detailed source information) Reynard The Fox (includes links to broadside examples). The Bodleian site has been malfunctioning from time to time at weekends, but is usually fixed on Mondays when everyone goes back to work. |
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13 May 03 - 02:46 PM (#951930) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Death Of The Fox (Magpie Lane) From: Raedwulf Cheers guys! Much obliged!! :)) |
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25 Sep 09 - 05:46 PM (#2731416) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Death of the Fox (Magpie Lane) From: Artful Codger Another broadside version: Sly Reynard the Fox Some gentlemen take great delight, In hunting bold Reynard the fox, Near yon stoney common he liv'd, And fed upon fat geese and ducks. He fed upon all the good things, Not thinking how soon he should die, But was chas'd by a pack of fresh hounds, And forc'd from the country to fly. Through the wild country he rambled, And liv'd at an extravagant rate; Young lambs he pick'd up for his living, The farmers they all did him hate. The lord for the king's hounds did send, Jerry Bilson did swear he should die, But he left two brothers behind him, That lov'd young lambs better than he. Through the wild country he ran, The blood thirsty hounds did him follow, It made his old coat stand an end, To hear how the huntsmen did hollow. Ofttimes has he been surprised, By dogs that could run like a cow, But of all the times of his life, He ne'er got a breathing till now. Forty-five miles he ran them, And that in five hours' space, O pardon, dear huntsmen and hounds, By this fatal wound he will die. In the stoney fields they kill'd him, There he was forc'd to die The hounds tore him all to pieces, They made his old coat for to fly. Since they bold Reynard have kill'd, They may go to the Dolphin and dine, And put his foot in a full bumper, So drink your lord's health in good wine. [between title and text:] Printed for W. Armstrong, Banastre-street. Bodly Ballads: Harding B 28(261); between 1820 and 1824. On same page: Admiral Benbow |