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- Songs of Action - 4/12 -


And Carnbrae Bob, the Pennarby wit, Told him the facts about the pit: How they bored the shaft till the brimstone smell Warned them off from tapping--well, He wouldn't say what, But they took it as sign To dig no deeper in Pennarby mine.

Then leaning over and peering in, He was pointing out what he said was tin In the ten-foot lode--a crash! a jar! A grasping hand and a splintered bar. Gone in his strength, With the lips that laughed - Oh, the pale faces round Pennarby shaft!

Far down on a narrow ledge, They saw him cling to the crumbling edge. 'Wait for the bucket! Hi, man! Stay! That rope ain't safe! It's worn away! He's taking his chance, Slack out the line! Sweet Lord be with him!' cried Pennarby mine.

'He's got him! He has him! Pull with a will! Thank God! He's over and breathing still. And he--Lord's sakes now! What's that? Well! Blowed if it ain't our London swell. Your heart is right If your coat IS fine: Give us your hand!' cried Pennarby mine.

A ROVER CHANTY

A trader sailed from Stepney town - Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the mainsail! A trader sailed from Stepney town With a keg full of gold and a velvet gown: Ho, the bully rover Jack, Waiting with his yard aback Out upon the Lowland sea!

The trader he had a daughter fair - Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the foresail The trader he had a daughter fair, She had gold in her ears, and gold in her hair: All for bully rover Jack, Waiting with his yard aback, Out upon the Lowland sea!

'Alas the day, oh daughter mine!' - Shake her up! Wake her up! Try her with the topsail! 'Alas the day, oh daughter mine! Yon red, red flag is a fearsome sign!' Ho, the bully rover Jack, Reaching on the weather tack, Out upon the Lowland sea!

'A fearsome flag!' the maiden cried - Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the jibsail! 'A fearsome flag!' the maiden cried, But comelier men I never have spied!' Ho, the bully rover Jack, Reaching on the weather tack, Out upon the Lowland sea!

There's a wooden path that the rovers know - Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the headsails! There's a wooden path that the rovers know, Where none come back, though many must go: Ho, the bully rover Jack, Lying with his yard aback, Out upon the Lowland sea!

Where is the trader of Stepney town? - Wake her up! Shake her up! Every stick a-bending! Where is the trader of Stepney town? There's gold on the capstan, and blood on the gown: Ho for bully rover Jack, Waiting with his yard aback, Out upon the Lowland sea!

Where is the maiden who knelt at his side? - Wake her up! Shake her up! Every stitch a-drawing! Where is the maiden who knelt at his side? We gowned her in scarlet, and chose her our bride: Ho, the bully rover Jack, Reaching on the weather tack, Right across the Lowland sea!

So it's up and its over to Stornoway Bay, Pack it on! Crack it on! Try her with the stunsails! It's off on a bowline to Stornoway Bay, Where the liquor is good and the lasses are gay: Waiting for their bully Jack, Watching for him sailing back, Right across the Lowland sea.

A BALLAD OF THE RANKS

Who carries the gun? A lad from over the Tweed. Then let him go, for well we know He comes of a soldier breed. So drink together to rock and heather, Out where the red deer run, And stand aside for Scotland's pride - The man that carries the gun! For the Colonel rides before, The Major's on the flank, The Captains and the Adjutant Are in the foremost rank. But when it's 'Action front!' And fighting's to be done, Come one, come all, you stand or fall By the man who holds the gun.

Who carries the gun? A lad from a Yorkshire dale. Then let him go, for well we know The heart that never will fail. Here's to the fire of Lancashire, And here's to her soldier son! For the hard-bit north has sent him forth - The lad that carries the gun.

Who carries the gun? A lad from a Midland shire. Then let him go, for well we know He comes of an English sire. Here's a glass to a Midland lass, And each can choose the one, But east and west we claim the best For the man that carries the gun.

Who carries the gun? A lad from the hills of Wales. Then let him go, for well we know, That Taffy is hard as nails. There are several ll's in the place where he dwells, And of w's more than one, With a 'Llan' and a 'pen,' but it breeds good men, And it's they who carry the gun.

Who carries the gun? A lad from the windy west. Then let him go, for well we know That he is one of the best. There's Bristol rough, and Gloucester tough, And Devon yields to none. Or you may get in Somerset Your lad to carry the gun.

Who carries the gun? A lad from London town. Then let him go, for well we know The stuff that never backs down. He has learned to joke at the powder smoke, For he is the fog-smoke's son, And his heart is light and his pluck is right - The man who carries the gun.

Who carries the gun? A lad from the Emerald Isle. Then let him go, for well we know, We've tried him many a while. We've tried him east, we've tried him west, We've tried him sea and land, But the man to beat old Erin's best Has never yet been planned.

Who carries the gun? It's you, and you, and you; So let us go, and we won't say no If they give us a job to do. Here we stand with a cross-linked hand, Comrades every one; So one last cup, and drink it up To the man who carries the gun! For the Colonel rides before, The Major's on the flank, The Captains and the Adjutant Are in the foremost rank. And when it's 'Action front!' And there's fighting to be done, Come one, come all, you stand or fall By the man who holds the gun.

A LAY OF THE LINKS


Songs of Action - 4/12

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