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It's Cold by the Door

by Gordon Jackson

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William Taylor I’ll sing you a song of two young lovers Down from Lichfield town they came And the young man’s name was William Taylor Sarah Gray was the maiden’s name William Taylor he has enlisted For a soldier he has gone And he’s gone and he’s left his own true lover For to sigh and for to mourn And Sally’s parents they have abused her Filled her heart with grief and woe And for to seek William Taylor For a soldier she would go She’s dressed herself in man’s apparel Man’s apparel she’s put on And for to seek young William Taylor For a soldier she has gone One day as she was exercising Exercising one two three A silver chain fell down from her waistcoat And exposed her lilywhite breast The sergeant he stepped up to her And asked the young lady what brings you here I come in search of William Taylor Who was pressed from me last year Oh if you come in search of William Taylor William Taylor he’s not here For I do hear that he’s to married To some lovely lady so fare And if you rise early in the morning Early at the break of day It’s there you’ll see young William Taylor Walking out with a lady so gay So she’s rosed early in the morning Early at the break of day And there she’s spied William Taylor Walking out with a lady so gay So she’s rosed early in the morning Early at the break of day And there she’s spied William Taylor Walking out with a lady so gay And she has called for a brace of pistols A brace of pistols was brought to her hand And she shot William Taylor With his bride at his right hand
Newlyn Town 03:52
NEWLYN TOWN In Newlyn Town I was bred and born At Stephen’s Green there I die in scorn I served me time at the saddling trade And I was always And I was always a roving blade At seventeen I took a wife And I loved her dear as I loved me life To keep her happy both night and day I went a-robbing I went a-robbing on the broad highway I robbed Lord Golding I do declare And Lady Mansfield in Grosvenor Square I shut the shutters and bid them good night And home I took my loot And home I took my loot to my heart’s delight To Covent Garden we went straightway To Covent Garden to see a play Ned Fielding’s gang there did me pursue And I was taken And I was taken by that cursed crew And when I’m dead and go to my grave A fine and flashy funeral let me have With six bold highwaymen to carry me Give them broadswords Oh give them broadswords and sweet liberty Oh six pretty doxies to carry my pall Give them white ribbons and gloves and all That when I’m gone they will tell it true There goes a wild young man There goes a wild young man and a wicked youth
POOR MURDERED WOMAN It was Hanky the Squire as I’ve heard them tell He went out a-hunting all on one fine day He went out a-hunting but nothing he found But a poor murdered woman laid on the cold ground About eight o’clock, boys, our dogs they throwed off To Leatherhead Common and that was the spot They tried all the bushes but nothing they found But a poor murdered woman laid on the cold ground They whipped their dogs off and they kept them away For I do think it is proper that she should have fair play They tried all the bushes but nothing they found But a poor murdered woman laid on the cold ground They mounted their horses and they rode off the ground They rode to the village and alarmed it all around It is late in the evening, I am sorry to say She cannot be removed until the next day. The next Sunday morning about eight o’clock Some hundreds of people to the spot they did flock For to see that poor creature it would make your hearts bleed Some cold-hearted violence came into their heads She was took off the common and down to some inn And the man that has kept it his name is John Sims The coroner was sent for and the jury they joined And soon they concluded and they settled their mind A coffin was brought and in it she was laid And took to the churchyard in fair Leatherhead No father, no mother, nor no friend at all Came to see the poor creature put under the mould
SIR PATRICK SPENS Oh the King he sits in Dunfermline Town A-drinking the blood-red wine Oh where will I find a good mariner To sail seven ships of mine Then up and spoke a fine young man Sat at the King’s right knee Sir Patrick Spens is the best mariner Who ever sailed on the sea And the King has written a broad letter And signed it with his own hand And he’s sent it off to Sir Patrick Spens A-walking along the strand And the very first line that Patrick he read A little loud laugh gave he And the very last line that Patrick he read The salt tear spilled his eye Oh who is he that has done this deed And told the King on me For never was I a good mariner And never do intend to be And it’s late yest’re’en I saw the new moon With the old moon in her arms And I fear, I fear a deadly storm Our little ship will come to harm But rise up, rise up my merry men all Our little ship she sails in the morn Whether it’s windy or whether it’s wet Or whether there’s a deadly storm And they hadn’t been sailing a league or more A league but barely nine When the wind and wet and sleet and snow Came blowing up behind Oh where will I find a good cabin boy To take the helm in hand That I might go to the topmast high To see if I can’t spy land Come down come down Sir Patrick Spens I fear that we all must die For it’s in and out of the good ship’s hull The wind and the ocean fly And the very first step that Patrick he took The water it came to his knee And the very next step that Patrick he took All drowned they were in the sea And it’s many was the fine feather bed That floated on the foam And it’s many was the little lords’ son That never, never more came home And it’s long, long may their ladies sit With their fans all in their hands Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come a-walking along the strand For it’s fifteen miles to Aberdeen shore It’s fifty fathoms deep And there does lie Sir Patrick Spens With the little lords at his feet
VAN DIEMEN’S LAND Come, all you gallant poachers That ramble free from care That walk out of a moonlight night With your dog your gun and snare Where the lusty hare and pheasant You have at your command Not thinking that your last career Is on Van Diemen’s Land There was poor Tom Brown from Nottingham Jack Williams, and poor Joe Were three as daring poachers As the country well does know At night they were trepanned By the keepers hid in sand And for fourteen years transported were Unto Van Diemen’s Land Oh when that we were landed Upon that fatal shore The planters they came flocking round Full twenty score or more They ranked us up like horses And sold us out of hand They yoked us to the plough my boys To plough Van Diemen’s Land Come all you gallant poachers Give ear unto my song It is a bit of good advice Although it is not long Lay by your dog and snare To you I do speak plain If you knew the hardships we endure You ne’er would poach again


released April 11, 2011


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The Jones Boys Sandwich, UK

The Jones Boys play an exciting blend of mostly traditional music from Ireland, England, Shetland, Scotland, Brittany, Sweden, Bulgaria and beyond!

The current line up is:

Sam Sloan – button accordion, anglo concertina, keyboards, trumpet and vocals;

Gordon Jackson – vocals, octave mandola, low whistle and percussion.
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