Part 5

This ancient and interesting, now nearly forgotten, game was in the last generation a universal favorite in the United States, imported, no doubt, by the early settlers of the country; and was equally familiar, in numerous variations, through England and Scotland. It is not, however, the exclusive property of English-speaking peoples, but current under a score of forms throughout Europe--from Latin France, Italy, and Spain, to Scandinavian Iceland, from the Finns of the Baltic coast to the Slavs of Moravia. Its theme is courtship; but courtship considered according to ancient ideas, as a mercantile negotiation. To "buy" a bride was the old Norse expression for marriage, and in a similar sense is to be understood the word "sold" in our rhyme. The frankly mercenary character of the original transaction ceasing to be considered natural, it was turned into a jest or satire in Sweden and Scotland. The present song assumed all the grace and courtesy characteristic of the mediæval English ballad, while a primitive form survived in Iceland; and a later outgrowth (our No. 3) represented the whole affair as one of coquetry instead of bargaining, substituting, for the head of the house or the mother, the bride herself as the negotiator.

Our first version shows the form of the game as played in New York in the early part of the century.

* * * * *

On a sofa, or row of chairs, a mother, with her daughters on either side, seated. Advance three suitors.

"Here come three lords out of Spain, A-courting of your daughter Jane."

"My daughter Jane is yet too young, To be ruled by your flattering tongue."

"Be she young, or be she old, 'Tis for the price she may be sold.

"So fare you well, my lady gay, We must turn another way."

"Turn back, turn back, you Spanish knight, And scour your boots and spurs so bright."

"My boots and spurs they cost you nought, For in this land they were not bought.

"Nor in this land will they be sold, Either for silver or for gold.

"So fare you well, my lady gay, We must turn another way."

"Turn back, turn back, you Spanish knight, And choose the fairest in your sight."

"I'll not take one nor two nor three, But pray, Miss [Lucy], walk with me."

The Spanish knight takes the girl named by the hand, and marches off with her. Walking round the room, he returns, saying,

"Here comes your daughter safe and sound, In her pocket a thousand pound,

"On her finger a gay gold ring-- I bring your daughter home again."

In Philadelphia the game had a peculiar ending, which, however, as we shall see, preserved, though in a corrupt form, an ancient trait:

"Here comes your daughter safe and sound, In her pocket a thousand pound,

"On her finger a gay gold ring: Will you take your daughter in?"

"No!"

The girl then runs away, the mother pursuing her. The Spanish knight catches her, and brings her back, saying,

"Here comes your daughter safe and sound, In her pocket _no_ thousand pound,

On her finger _no_ gay gold ring, Will you take your daughter in?"

"Yes!"

The daughter then once more flies, and the Spanish knight has to catch her.

The following is a New England version:

"We are three brethren from Spain, Come to court your daughter Jane."

"My daughter Jane is yet too young To be courted by your flattering tongue."

"Be she young, or be she old, It is for gold she must be sold.

Then fare ye well, my lady gay, I must return another day."

"Come back, come back, you Spanish knight, Your boots and spurs shine very bright."

"My boots and spurs they count you nought, For in this town they were not bought."

"Come back, come back, you Spanish knight, And choose the fairest in your sight."

"This is too black, and that is too brown, And this is the fairest in the town."

The only part of the country, so far as we know, in which the game now survives is the neighborhood of Cincinnati, where it is still played in a reduced but original form:

"Here comes a knight, a knight of Spain, To court your daughter, lady Jane."

"My lady Jane, she is too young, To be controlled by flattering tongue."

"Be she young or be she old, Her beauty's fair, she must be sold."

"Go back, go back, you Spanish man, And choose the fairest in the land."

"The fairest one that I can see, Is [Annie Hobart] to walk with me."

The game now proceeds, "Here come two knights," then with three, four, etc., till all the players are mated.[35]

It will be proper to add some account of the comparative history of this curious game. The English and Scotch versions, though generally less well preserved, correspond to our American. But we find a more primitive type in Iceland, where it is, or a few years ago was, an amusement of winter evenings, played not by children, but by men and women, in a form which indicates a high antiquity. The women ask the men, as these advance, what they desire? The latter reply, "a maid," that is, wife. The inquiry now is, what will they give? It is answered, _stone_. This tender is scornfully refused, and the suitors retire in dudgeon, but return to raise their offer, and at last proffer _gold_, which is accepted, and the controversy ends in a dance.[36]

Curiously enough, modern Scotland retains this song in nearly all the rude simplicity of the Icelandic just referred to; though the negotiation, instead of being taken as a matter of course, is turned into a satire, being treated as the endeavor of a rich old bachelor to purchase a wife.

In the stewartry of Kirkendbright, says Chambers, _Janet jo_ is a dramatic entertainment among young rustics on winter evenings. A youth, disguised as an old bachelor, enters the room bonnet in hand, bowing, and declaring that "he has come to court Janet jo." The goodwife then demands, "What'll ye gie for Janet jo?" He responds, a "peck of siller," but is told, "Gae awa', ye auld carle!" He retires, but soon returns, and increases his offer, which is less scornfully rejected, until he proffers "three pecks of gowd," which is accepted with the words--

"Come ben beside Janet jo, Janet jo, Janet jo, Ye're welcome to Janet jo, Janet, my jo."

The affair then ends in kissing. A comparison of details (such as the diminishing scorn of the bargainer, and chagrin of the suitors at each rejection) leaves no doubt that the Icelandic and Scotch forms of the game were once (but many centuries since) identical.

The German versions are numerous, but corrupt, and less ancient and characteristic. In one of the most spirited the mother assigns as a reason for refusing the suitor, that

Her tresses are not braided, Her wedding-gown not done.

Similarly, we find in an English fragment,

My mead's not made, my cake's not baked, And you cannot have my daughter Jane.

There is a French form, not otherwise especially interesting, which resembles our No. 3.[37]

More striking than the preceding, and abounding in singular correspondences with the first three numbers of our own collection, is the Italian version, as played in Venice. In this game, one of the rows is composed of a boy, who represents the head of the house, and five or six girls who stand at his right and left. The other row is formed by the _ambassador_, whose suite consists of boys and girls. These last advance towards the first row, singing, "The ambassador is come," then, retreating, sing a chorus, "Olà, olà, olà." The conversation then proceeds in a rhythmical way between the two rows as follows:

"What do you wish?" "A maid." "Which maid?" "The fairest." "Who is the fairest?" "Nineta bella." "What husband will you give her?" "A chimney-sweep." "That will not do." "The king of France." "That will do well." "What dowry will you give her?" "A ducat." "It will not do." "A zechin a day." "That will do well." "Come and take her." "Here I come and take her."

The "ambassador" advances and takes the girl by the hand; then, as if changing his mind, rejects her, saying as he returns--

"And now I don't want her!" "Why do you not want her?" "She is too little (or ugly)." "Is that the trouble?" "Yes, that is the trouble." "Come, let us make peace." "Peace is made."

The ambassador then takes by the hand the girl, who is presented to him by the head of the house; the two files unite to form a circle, and the bride receives the general congratulations of the company, who clap their hands, courtesy, and sing,[38] as in the pretty English equivalent--

And the bells will ring, and the birds will sing, And we'll all clap hands together.

In Spain, the game is known as the "Embassy of the Moorish King." The "King of the Moors" is seated on the ground, with crossed legs, his attendants about him. The "ambassador" makes three steps forward, and demands one of his daughters. The king replies, "If I have them, I have them not to give away; of the bread which I eat, they shall eat as well."

The ambassador withdraws angry: "In discontent I go from the king's palace." But the king, repenting, calls after him--

"Turn thee, knight, come, turn thee hither, The most fair I'll give to thee-- The most lovely and the sweetest, Sweetest rose upon the tree."

The ambassador crosses hands with one of his train to make a seat, on which the bride is placed in triumph, singing--

"Thus I take her for her marriage, Spouse and wedded wife to be."

The king addresses them on departure--

"Listen, knight, I do entreat thee, Use to her all courtesy."

And the ambassadors reply--

"She, on throne of splendor seated, Shall be shining to behold, She shall lodge within a palace, She shall dress in pearls and gold."

It will thus be seen that the three knights originally represent not suitors, but envoys. If we remember that marriage, in some simple countries, is still conducted through intermediaries, whose duty it is to argue, chaffer, and dispute, before coming to the decision all along intended, we shall see reason to believe that from a form representing more or less literally the usages of primitive society have sprung in the course of time a multitude of confused representations, colored by later tastes and feelings.

The spirit and substance of the courteous and chivalric English rhyme cannot be later than the fourteenth century; the identity and primitive rudeness of the song in Iceland, Scotland (and, we shall presently add, Virginia), supposes an earlier date; while even then we have to bridge the gap between these forms and the Italian. We may, therefore, be tolerably sure that the first diffusion of the game in Europe dates far back into the Middle Age.

No. 2.

_Three Kings._

This antique rhyme, which comes to us from West Virginia, is a rude and remarkable variety of the preceding game, but quite unlike any English version hitherto printed.

We find a singular and apparently connected equivalent in the Färöe isles. In the form of the dialogue there in use, as in the present game, the suitor is presented in successively higher characters, as a thrall, smith, and so on, until he is finally accepted as a prince. The Italian song has shown us a similar usage. Thus the surf-beaten rocks of the North Atlantic, with their scanty population of fishermen and shepherds, whose tongue is a dialect of the ancient Norse speech, are linked by the golden chain (or network) of tradition with the fertile vales of the Alleghenies, and the historic lagoons of Venice.

The corrupt ending, too, compared with the Philadelphia version already cited, and with the Venetian game, is seen to rest on an ancient basis. The children, having forgotten the happy close, and not understanding the haggling of the suitors, took the "three kings" for bandits.

* * * * *

On one side of the room a mother with her daughters. On the other three wooers, who advance.

"Here come three soldiers three by three, To court your daughter merrily; Can we have a lodging, can we have a lodging, Can we have a lodging here to-night?"

"Sleep, my daughter, do not wake-- Here come three soldiers, and they sha'n't take; They sha'n't have a lodging, they sha'n't have a lodging, They sha'n't have a lodging here to-night."

"Here come three sailors three by three, To court your daughter merrily; Can we have a lodging," etc.

"Sleep, my daughter, do not wake-- Here come three sailors and they sha'n't take; They sha'n't have a lodging," etc.

"Here come three tinkers three by three, To court your daughter merrily; Can we have a lodging," etc.

"Sleep, my daughter, do not wake-- Here come three tinkers and they sha'n't take; They sha'n't have a lodging," etc.

"Here come three kings, three by three, To court your daughter merrily; Can we have a lodging," etc.

"Wake, my daughter, do not sleep-- Here come three kings, and they _shall_ take; They _shall_ have a lodging, they shall have a lodging, They shall have a lodging here to-night."

(_To the kings_)--

"Here is my daughter safe and sound, And in her pocket five hundred pound, And on her finger a plain gold ring, And she is fit to walk with the king."

(The daughter goes with the kings; but they are villains in disguise: they rob her, push her back to her mother, and sing)--

"Here is your daughter _not_ safe and sound, And in her pocket _not_ five hundred pound, And on her finger no plain gold ring, And she's not fit to walk with the king."

(The mother pursues the kings, and tries to catch and beat them).

_Charlestown, W. Va._

No. 3.

_Here Comes a Duke._

This rhyme is only a later development of the same game. The suitor is now made to address himself directly to his mistress, and the mercenary character of the previous transaction is replaced by coquetry. Our New England song loses nothing by comparison with the pretty Scotch.

A company of little girls sit in a row. A little girl from the middle of the room goes dancing up to the first one in the row, singing,

"Here comes a duke a-roving, Roving, roving, Here comes a duke a-roving, With the ransy, tansy, tea! With the ransy, tansy, tario! With the ransy, tansy, tea! Pretty fair maid, will you come out, Will you come out, will you come out, To join us in our dancing?"

Little girl answers,

"No."

Suitor steps backward, singing,

"Naughty girl,[39] she won't come out, She won't come out, she won't come out, To join us in our dancing."

Suitor advances as before. The answer now is,

"Yes."

These two now retire, singing together,

"Now we've got the flowers of May, The flowers of May, the flowers of May, To join us in our dancing."

They join hands and call out the next one in the row; thus the play goes on until the last is selected, when they form a ring, dance, and sing,

"Now we've got the flowers of May, The flowers of May, the flowers of May, To join us in our dancing."

_Concord, Mass._

Avulgarized form of the same game is common through the Middle States:

_Boys._ "We are three _ducks_ a-roving, (thrice) _With a ransom dansom dee._"

_Girls._ "What is your good-will, sir?" etc.

_Boys._ "My good-will is to marry," etc.

_Girls._ "Which one of us will you have, sir?" etc.

_Boys._ "You're all too black and blowzy," etc.

_Girls._ "We are as good as you, sir," etc.

_Boys._ "Then I will take you, miss," etc.

The pretended quarrel between intermediaries has here become a dispute of the principals.[40]

Finally, in the streets of New York the dialogue is made unrecognizable--

_The Ring._ "Forty ducks are riding, _My dilsey dulsey officer_; Forty ducks are riding, _My dilsey dulsey day_. Which of the lot do you like best?"

_Child in Centre._ "You're all too black and ugly--ugly," etc.

_The Ring._ "We're not so black as you are," etc.

The child then selects a partner, when the rest sing,

"Open the gates and let the bride out," etc.;

and the couple pass under lifted hands, circle the ring, and similarly reenter, to the words,

"Open the gates and let the bride in," etc.

We have thus a curious example of the way in which an apparently meaningless game, which might be supposed the invention of the _gamins_ of the street, is, in fact, a degenerate form of the ancient poetry, which was brimful of grace, courtesy, and the joy of existence.

For a purpose presently to be mentioned, we must cite the corresponding Scotch rhyme, given by Chambers:

A dis, a dis, a green grass, A dis, a dis, a dis; Come all ye pretty fair maids, And dance along with us.

For we are going a-roving, A-roving in this land; We'll take this pretty fair maid, We'll take her by the hand.

Ye shall get a duke, my dear, And ye shall get a drake; And ye shall get a young prince, A young prince for your sake.

And if this young prince chance to die, Ye shall get another; The bells will ring, and the birds will sing, And we'll all clap hands together.

No. 4.

_Tread, Tread the Green Grass._

Tread, tread the green grass, Dust, dust, dust; Come all ye pretty fair maids And walk along with us.

If you be a fair maid, As I suppose you be, I'll take you by the lily-white hand And lead you across the sea.

_Philadelphia._

With this musical call to the dance, it was common, a generation since, for girls in this town to begin the evening dances on the green, singing as they marched in couples. The "dust" of the rhyme is a corruption. Comparing it with the Scotch song previously quoted, we do not doubt that it represents the Scotch (in other words, old English) _adist_, the opposite of _ayont_, meaning _this way_, come hither. We ought probably therefore to read,

Tread, tread the green grass, Adist, adist, adist.

This song was no mere dance of rustics; the children at least kept up the usage of the day when a pleasing popular poetry was the heritage of all ranks. The spirit of the strain carries us back to that "carolling" of ladies which was, in the time of Chaucer, no less than the gay green of the meadow or the melody of the birds, an accompaniment of summer.

No. 5.

_I'll Give to You a Paper of Pins._

This pretty and interesting, hitherto imprinted, children's song is more or less familiar throughout the Middle States. We have heard it with many variations from persons of all classes and ages. It may often be listened to in the upper part of the city of New York, as it is sung (with a mere apology for a melody) by three or four girls, walking with arms entwined, or crooned by mere infants seated on the casks which, in the poorer quarters, often encumber the sidewalk.

There are also English and Scotch versions, generally inferior as regards poetical merit and antiquity of language. The English form, however, seems to contain the primitive idea, where the wooer appears as a prince, who by splendid presents overcomes the objections of a lady. This mercenary character being repugnant to modern taste, the Scotch rhyme represents the suitor as the Evil One in person; while in the United States the hero is, in his turn, made to cast off the avaricious fair, or else the lady to demand only love for love.

The numerous couplets of the American rhyme are completely in the ballad style. A "paper of pins" is substituted for a "pennorth of pins." The "easy-chair" is modern, but the verse itself ancient, combing golden hair being a world-old occupation of beauties. The gown "trimmed with golden thread," or "set off with a golden crown," refers to the attire of olden times. The mediæval bride wore a crown on the head and flowing hair; a costume also mentioned in old ballads as the usual dress of a demoiselle of rank arrayed for the dance.

"I'll give to you a paper of pins, And that's the way my love begins; If you will marry me, me, me, If you will marry me."

"I don't accept your paper of pins, If that's the way your love begins; For I won't marry you, you, you, For I won't marry you."

"I'll give to you an easy-chair, To sit in and comb your golden hair.

"I'll give to you a silver spoon, To feed your babe in the afternoon.

"I'll give to you a dress of green, To make you look like any queen.[41]

"I'll give to you the key of my heart, For you to lock and never to part.

"I'll give to you the key of my chest, For you to have money at your request."

"I _do_ accept the key of your chest, For me to have money at my request; And I will marry you, you, you, And I will marry you."

"Ha, ha, ha, money is all, And I won't marry you at all; For I won't marry you, you, you, For I won't marry you."

This is from a New York child; our next version is from Connecticut:

"Oh, miss, I'll give you a paper of pins, If you will tell me how love begins: If you will marry, marry, marry, If you will marry me."

"I'll not accept your paper of pins, And I won't tell you how love begins; For I won't marry, marry, marry, For I won't marry you."

"O miss, I'll give you a coach and six, Every horse as black as pitch.

"O miss, I'll give you a red silk gown, With gold and laces hanging round.

"O miss, I'll give you a little gold bell, To ring for the waiter[42] when you are not well.

"O miss, I'll give you the key to my heart, That we may lock and never part.

"O miss, I'll give you the key to my chest, That you may have money at your request."

"I will accept the key of your chest, That I may have money at my request."

"Ah, I see, money is all, Woman's love is none at all; And I won't marry, marry, marry, And I won't marry you."

Finally, we have a variation with a more tender conclusion:

"Will you have a paper of pins? For that's the way my love begins-- And will you marry me, me, me, And will you marry me?"

"No, I'll not have a paper of pins, If that's the way your love begins."

"Will you have a little lap-dog, Who may follow you abroad?

"Will you have a coach and four, Footman behind and footman before?

"Will you have a dress of red, All trimmed round with golden thread?

"Will you have a satin gown, All set off with a golden crown?

"Will you have the key to my chest, To draw out gold at your request?

"Will you have the key to my heart, That we may love and never part?"

"Yes, I will have the key to your heart, That we may love and never part, And I will marry you, you, you, And I will marry you."

The same idea is contained in a song originally Scotch, but which comes to us (through an Irish medium) from Pennsylvania:

"Will you come to the Highland braes, _Bonny lassie, Highland lassie_? Will you come to the Highland braes, _My bonny Highland lassie_?"

The reply is, "Na, na, it will not dee, bonnie laddie," etc.: when the wooer gradually increases his offers:

"I will give you a golden comb, If you will be mine and never roam;"

and finally inquires,

"Will you go to the kirk with me, There to be my wedded wife?"

which is eagerly accepted:

"_And them's the words away to town_, And I will get my wedding-gown."

No. 6.

_There She Stands, a Lovely Creature._