Maddy Prior - Discography: Arthur the King

CD - Park Records, PRKCD58 (UK, 2001) Sound bits available at the Samples Page.	Maddy Prior: *Arthur the King* Arthur the King: 1. The Name of Arthur [3:36] 2. Veturae Remembering [3:21] 3. Hallows I [1:16] 4. Queen and Sovereignity [3:04] 5. Hallows II [1:01] 6. Tribal Warriors [4:43] 7. Hallows III [1:00] 8. Sentry [4:25] 9. Hallows IV [1:09] 10. Once and Future King [3:34] 11. Reynardine [5:46] 12. Hail the Ball [3:43] 13. The Duke of Marlborough [5:20] 14. Fanny Blair [4:16] 15. Lark in the Morning [5:04]
musicians:	Maddy Prior - vocals Nick Nolland - keyboards, backing vocals Troy Donockley - uillean pipes, electric and acoustic guitars, low whistle, tin whistle, cittern, backing vocals Terl Briant - drums and percussion
other credits:	Produced by Nick Holland and Troy Donockley Engineered by Steve Watkins Recorded at Warehouse Studios, Oxford Mastered at Country Masters by Denis Blackham Photography by Jay Alice Preece Sleeve designed by Terri Donockley Graphics & artworks by Chris Sands at Indigo Design West Yorkshire Album coordination by John Dagnell © 2001 Park Records Samples

N o t e s a n d L y r i c s

The Name of Arthur
(Prior/Holland/Donockley)

The historical Arthur is a high controversial figure. Theories abound as to his region of activity and his ancestry. Most postulate that he was a Romano-British war-captain who led his people against the in-coming Anglo-Saxons, or English, in the late 5th or early 6th century. The Arthur of legend that we have become familiar with was a construct of the writers of the 12th century. Geoffrey of Monmouth, Chretien de Troyes, Wolfgang von Eschenbach, plus later writers such as Thomas Malory, developed an elaborate and beautiful series of stories supposedly based on earlier tales of this great king. The Mabiniogion, a great poem of Welsh origin gives Arthur a more Celtic dimension, and certainly the later 'Grail romances' that became Christian in style, owed much of their source the Celts.

The poet and the troubadour have stolen my name
They poached my true story and gave me false fame
I was a ruler, a warrior, an emperor, a chief
I fought for my people, I fought for my belief
I fought for law and order in fear of chaos reign
To keep out butchery of hell-hounds fateful bane
I fought against savages of iron flesh and bone
To keep them from ravaging my family and home
They've turned me to a gentleman of pallid livery
A puppet for their musings, their whims of chivalry
But I fought no imaginings of courtly smiles and lies
I fought murderous men with evil in their eyes

Veturae* Remembering
(Prior/Holland/Donockley)

When the legions marched away from Britain they let behind a people who were more Roman than the Romans. They had been occupied for four centuries and the wealthy Britons thought of themselves as citizens of Rome. They built villas and baths. Tiled their floors with mosaics and drank wine imported from other parts of empire. Then suddenly they were deserted. They couldn't believe it. They sent indignant letters to Rome asking for reinforcements to fight the Picts in the North and the Irish in the West. They were brusquely told to fend for themselves. And so gradually they let go of the image of Empire and made shift to deal with the invaders. Vortingern, a leader of the British, invited a band of Saxon warriors to become mercenaries. Seeing a green and pleasant, and relatively and undefended land, they turned treacherous and decide to stay and bring their tribes over, who were being squeezed out of mainland Europe by the encroaching tribes from Eastern Europe, themselves being pushed by the horsemen of the Steppes. It is into this Scenario that Arthur appears.
A charismatic figure that bonds the otherwise warring British tribes to perceive a common enemy and fight in unity.
*veturae=old women (Latin)

Roman was my childhood
Soft clothes and clean lines
Pillars and mosaics
Baths and fine wines
Law and order
But then they marched away
Never to return
Betrayed and deserted
At the mercy of the wars.
Mercenaries of Vortigern
Fearless of laws.
Crossed the seas
Hundreds upon hundreds
To dispossess me
To rob my native land
To rob me of my land
They think we have become an easy prey
Law and order
Then they marched away
They massacred our leaders
At a table set for peace
Hengest and his henchmen
Murderers at the feast
Alarm and terror blazed across the land
They hope to drive us out.
Out of history
But a strong island people
Yield not so easily
Arthur pins them to the East
Drives them back into the sea
He strikes fear deep in their hearts
He is a savage man
Arthur our King

The Hallows
(Prior/Holland/Donockley)

The later stories of the Grail are profound poetry about search of meaning. Since all stories echo this desire it seemed appropriate to make reference to this mystery. The Hallows are various forms that the grail takes, encompassing several cultures and ideologies. We have reprised the soundscape several times through the piece.

From my name has come a dream
A fable
A myth
A truth that runs deep beneath the daily round.
The cup of transformation.
The stone that falls from heaven.
The double-edged sword that extracts a heavy price.
The lance of perception that wounds and heals
By the Dolorous Blow
The sword of David in the Ship of Solomon
That sails out
Timeless symbols resonate
Of Cup and Sword
Dish and Lance.
They colour the essence of truth
That we seek what we cannot find.
Desire what we cannot have.
Fear what we cannot face.
And yearn for a safe harbour of loving arms to hold us dear
Forever and ever.

Queen and Sovereignty
(Prior/Holland/Donockley)

The king was though to be married not only to his Queen, but also to the land. This song weaves the two ideas together

Youth was an easy time
Strength stiffened every rod.
Energy flowered and blessed our union
My hair caught in his armour as we lay
In Stolen moments
We have laughed together
Fought together
Danced and drank together
I am his queen
He lives in me
His children grow in me
Wild like the hazel tree
I am the ground of his being
This gold torque around my neck
Glows in the gentle Spring light
Bound down in silken bonds
These wolfish Saxon bands
Trapped in a cage of his making.
Our young British warriors
Grow sheltered by
His mighty shadow

Tribal Warriors
(Prior/Holland/Donockley)

The images in this song could easily apply to either side of the struggle, and resonate throughout history. The vital, vibrant and violent energy of young men channelled into a single idea will always be threatening to any settled society.

Brutal cropped-headed warrior bands
Rage across all civilised lands
Looking for a rumble, yelling out their scorn
Careering down the ages, blood-brothers sworn
He brawls and he drinks and he's bored by peace
War is his pastime, and war was his feast
He feels no pity, he aches with no grief
He comes and he goes, a barbaric savage thief

Always and forever at impotence they sneer
Restless and rude, they thrive on fear
Art is for the soft, arms are for the strong
Might is right, the rest is wrong
Ignorance is power, virtue is a bane
Violated the timid, the halt and the lame
Bonded in hatred by deep racial scars
The tribe is his home, his loyalty is sure
Leather-clad warriors are looking for a war
So keep to your houses and bolt fast the door

Sentry
(words: Prior/ music: psalm tune by Joseph Gelineau/ arr. Prior/Holland/Donockley)

One suggestion put forward for the believed success of Arthur is his use of horses. This song is set in the form of a psalm with part of the Compline, or night service included, to give an indication of the rise of Christianity at this time.

The blood-lines of our horses are hazy now
Those who would know them are lost or gone away
We have cleared fields and pastures four our herds
They are steady friends, sure-footed and well fed
We fly on the wind to keep the enemy guessing
We travel in the nigh to catch them sleeping
They dare not leave their villages unprotected
Or we will swoop down and carry off their dear ones
The old hill-forts are our bivouacs at night
The old roman towns our hiding place
The Latin tongue has dried up here long ago
Blown on the dust of the departing legions
Save us O Lord while waking
And guard us while sleeping
That awake we may watch with care
And asleep may rest in peace
We harry the enemy who lumbers along on foot
They are better seafarers than land fighters
They stick together, there's a safety in numbers
For we pick off any strays or small scouting parties
We surprise him in the morning and kill him as he runs
Over land we know because our fathers farmed it.
Arthur has made us into a tight fighting unit
On fast ponies to confuse and rattle the invaders

Once and Future King
(Prior/Holland/Donockley)

Arthur's achievement was short-live. He probably held the English in East Anglia, Kent and Sussex for twenty years or so, but when he died the tribes fragmented again and the invaders were settled enough to bring over their monarchy. They gained ascendancy and eventually drove the Britons back to the hills of Wales and Cumbria and into Cornwall. Many had already fled to Brittany, and eventually settled there. The Celts had a cult of the head, and one of their stories is of Bran who was decapitated, but continued to speak and enjoy the company of his companions, until one of their number opened the forbidden set of doors (O, perfidy!) and Bran finally died. He was taken to be buried on a hill looking to the coast and it was said that he would return if ever the land was in need. This image of talismanic protection is a powerful one and appeals to our vulnerability and was incorporated into the later stories of Arthur.

The seed has blown
The bird has flown
The sap returns to earth
The chocking weeds
Spawn their seeds
O sweet garden overgrown There is a promise made
A promise of return
When all is care and pain.
The Once and Future King
Will return to his own
And make the garden bloom again.

Reynardine
(trad. arr. Prior/Holland/Donockley)

Seduction songs are not uncommon in the tradition, but this one is riveting in its accuracy. A shy character attempts to seduce a young girl, who is singularly unimpressed until he tells her that he is being sought by the authorities. At this proof of his anti-establishment/anti-hero status she becomes romantically inclined, in the time-honoured tradition of maidens everywhere. Robin Hood/Che Guevara/ bad lads can be very attractive figures. And, in the continuing veracity of the song, once he has gained intimacy he becomes evasive. Bu she hooked, and follows after him, asking his name. This telling tale of an eternal theme is underpinned by a most glorious and poignant tune.

One evening as I rambled among the springing thyme
I overheard a young woman conversing with Reynardine
Her hair was black, her eyes were blue and her mouth as red as wine
And he smiled to look upon her did the sly bold Reynardine
She said young man be civil and my company forsake
For my good opinion, I fear you are some rake
He said my dear I am no rake brought up in Venus train
But I'm searching for concealment, all from the judges men
Her cherry cheeks and her ruby lips they lost their former dye
And she fell into his arms there all on the mountain high
They hadn't kissed but once or twice till she came to again
And modestly she asked him, pray tell to me your name
He says if by chance you look for me perhaps you'll not me find
But I'll be in my castle, enquire for Reynardine
Day and night she followed him, his teeth so bright did shine
And he's led her over the mountain, did the sly bold Reynardine

Hail the Ball
(Prior/Donockley)

Folk customs of Britain are surprisingly vibrant in our computer/digital age. Often extremely violent or challenging, they provide an outlet for those energies not exorcised by organised football or other physical exertions. This is a picture of the Cumbrian, Workington Easter custom of the 'Uppies and Downies'. It is a centuries-old game of rugby-type anarchy between two 'ends' of the town. Toy grew up in Workington and his draws heavily on his knowledge and experience.

They're gathering at Cloffocks
In the late afternoon
Testosterone in T shirts
The game's beginning soon
An ancient war-like stuggle
For the Park or harbour wall
The Uppies and the Downies
Wage a battle for the ball
Hail, hail the ball
Hail the barbarians
Running along the Harbour Wall
The ball is up, they're in the beck
The scrum is hard and tight
The ball flies out away they run
The beat the failing light.
They're ploughing up the cricket pitch
And allotments of the town.
Stand back, stand back, bystander
Or the scrum will run you down
Laughing, pushing flexing style
Dark determined eyes.
Thousands crowd the high-ground
Murmuring asides.
They think the ball is the pack
In the blood and muck and dirt.
But there are no rules in this game.
It's stuffed up Millican's shirt.

The Duke of Marlborough
(trad. arr. Prior/Holland/Donockley)

The first Lord Marlborough, John Churchill, was an able general and an adroit politician who dodged his way through several changes of monarchy and their religions with great success, hence establishing Blenheim Palace and the wealth and power of the Churchill family. This is probably a Victorian song, at the height of Empire, given the gung-ho style of the lyrics.

You generals all and champions bold that take delight in field
That knock down palaces and castle walls but now to death must yield
I am an Englishman by birth, Lord Marlborough is my name
In Devonshire I drew my breath, a place of noted fame
I was beloved by all my men, kings and princes likewise
It's many a town I often took, and did the world surprise
King Charles the Second I did serve to face the foe in France
And at the battle of Ramilles I boldly did advance
The sun was down, the earth did shake, how loudly did I cry
Fight on, my lads, for old England's sake, we'll conquer or we'll die
That very day my horse got shot, 'twas by a musket ball
And as I mounted up again, my aide-de-camp did fall
Now on a bed of sickness lie, I am resigned to die
You generals all and champions bold stand true as well as I
Stand true my lads and bribes but fight with courage bold
I led my men through smoke and fire but never bribed by gold

Fanny Blair
(trad. arr. Prior/Holland/Donockley)

This song speaks about the taboo of sex with the under-aged and the hypocrisy and political wrangling that often go with it.

It was last Monday morning as I lay on my bed
A young friend came to me and unto me said
Rise up Henry Higgins and flee you elsewhere
For they're bound out against you by the young Fanny Blair
Fanny Blair is a girl of eleven years old
And if I must die then the truth I'll unfold
I never had dealings with her in my time
But now I must die for another man's crime
On the day of the trial Squire Vernon was there
And on the green table they've lifted Fanny Blair
And the lies that she swore to I'm ashamed for to tell
But the judge spoke up quick, saying 'You've told it right well'
Henry Higgins of Branfield, O whither art thou flown?
It's you're a poor prisoner condemned and alone
If Jackie McNiell of Newcastle was here
In spite of old Vernon we'd soon have you clear
On the day that young Higgins was condemned for to die
The people rose up with a murmuring cry
We'll catch her and crop her, she's a perjuring little whore
Young Henry is innocent, of that we're very sure
Just one thing remains before my life do end
Don't bury me in some old prison ground so far from many a friend
Leave my body to lie in the sweet Branfiels mould
And I pray the Lord pardons that little girl's soul

Lark in the Morning
(trad. arr. Prior/Holland/Donockley)

This deceptively simple song has been in my repertoire longer than any other folk song. It has that total Arcadian sweep that puts it in the style of tune that Vaughan-Williams loved and used in his own writing, and is a delight to sing.

Lay still my fond shepherd and don't you rise yet
It's a fine dewy morning and besides, my love, it is wet
Oh let it be wet my love and ever so cold
I will rise, my fond Floro and away to my fold
Oh no, my bright Floro, it is no such thing
It's a bright sun a-shining and the lark is on the wing
Oh the lark in the morning she rises from her nest
And she mounts in the air with the dew around her breast
And like a pretty ploughboy she'll whistle and sing
And at night she will return to her own nest again
When the ploughboy has done all he's got for to do
He trips down to the meadows where the grass is all cut down.

The Name of Arthur (Prior/Holland/Donockley) The historical Arthur is a high controversial figure. Theories abound as to his region of activity and his ancestry. Most postulate that he was a Romano-British war-captain who led his people against the in-coming Anglo-Saxons, or English, in the late 5th or early 6th century. The Arthur of legend that we have become familiar with was a construct of the writers of the 12th century. Geoffrey of Monmouth, Chretien de Troyes, Wolfgang von Eschenbach, plus later writers such as Thomas Malory, developed an elaborate and beautiful series of stories supposedly based on earlier tales of this great king. The Mabiniogion, a great poem of Welsh origin gives Arthur a more Celtic dimension, and certainly the later 'Grail romances' that became Christian in style, owed much of their source the Celts.
The poet and the troubadour have stolen my name They poached my true story and gave me false fame I was a ruler, a warrior, an emperor, a chief I fought for my people, I fought for my belief I fought for law and order in fear of chaos reign To keep out butchery of hell-hounds fateful bane I fought against savages of iron flesh and bone To keep them from ravaging my family and home They've turned me to a gentleman of pallid livery A puppet for their musings, their whims of chivalry But I fought no imaginings of courtly smiles and lies I fought murderous men with evil in their eyes
*Veturae Remembering** (Prior/Holland/Donockley) When the legions marched away from Britain they let behind a people who were more Roman than the Romans. They had been occupied for four centuries and the wealthy Britons thought of themselves as citizens of Rome. They built villas and baths. Tiled their floors with mosaics and drank wine imported from other parts of empire. Then suddenly they were deserted. They couldn't believe it. They sent indignant letters to Rome asking for reinforcements to fight the Picts in the North and the Irish in the West. They were brusquely told to fend for themselves. And so gradually they let go of the image of Empire and made shift to deal with the invaders. Vortingern, a leader of the British, invited a band of Saxon warriors to become mercenaries. Seeing a green and pleasant, and relatively and undefended land, they turned treacherous and decide to stay and bring their tribes over, who were being squeezed out of mainland Europe by the encroaching tribes from Eastern Europe, themselves being pushed by the horsemen of the Steppes. It is into this Scenario that Arthur appears. A charismatic figure that bonds the otherwise warring British tribes to perceive a common enemy and fight in unity. *veturae=old women (Latin)
Roman was my childhood Soft clothes and clean lines Pillars and mosaics Baths and fine wines Law and order But then they marched away Never to return Betrayed and deserted At the mercy of the wars. Mercenaries of Vortigern Fearless of laws. Crossed the seas Hundreds upon hundreds To dispossess me To rob my native land To rob me of my land	They think we have become an easy prey Law and order Then they marched away They massacred our leaders At a table set for peace Hengest and his henchmen Murderers at the feast Alarm and terror blazed across the land They hope to drive us out. Out of history But a strong island people Yield not so easily Arthur pins them to the East Drives them back into the sea He strikes fear deep in their hearts He is a savage man Arthur our King
The Hallows (Prior/Holland/Donockley) The later stories of the Grail are profound poetry about search of meaning. Since all stories echo this desire it seemed appropriate to make reference to this mystery. The Hallows are various forms that the grail takes, encompassing several cultures and ideologies. We have reprised the soundscape several times through the piece.
From my name has come a dream A fable A myth A truth that runs deep beneath the daily round. The cup of transformation. The stone that falls from heaven. The double-edged sword that extracts a heavy price. The lance of perception that wounds and heals By the Dolorous Blow The sword of David in the Ship of Solomon That sails out	Timeless symbols resonate Of Cup and Sword Dish and Lance. They colour the essence of truth That we seek what we cannot find. Desire what we cannot have. Fear what we cannot face. And yearn for a safe harbour of loving arms to hold us dear Forever and ever.
Queen and Sovereignty (Prior/Holland/Donockley) The king was though to be married not only to his Queen, but also to the land. This song weaves the two ideas together
Youth was an easy time Strength stiffened every rod. Energy flowered and blessed our union My hair caught in his armour as we lay In Stolen moments We have laughed together Fought together Danced and drank together I am his queen He lives in me	His children grow in me Wild like the hazel tree I am the ground of his being This gold torque around my neck Glows in the gentle Spring light Bound down in silken bonds These wolfish Saxon bands Trapped in a cage of his making. Our young British warriors Grow sheltered by His mighty shadow
Tribal Warriors (Prior/Holland/Donockley) The images in this song could easily apply to either side of the struggle, and resonate throughout history. The vital, vibrant and violent energy of young men channelled into a single idea will always be threatening to any settled society.
Brutal cropped-headed warrior bands Rage across all civilised lands Looking for a rumble, yelling out their scorn Careering down the ages, blood-brothers sworn He brawls and he drinks and he's bored by peace War is his pastime, and war was his feast He feels no pity, he aches with no grief He comes and he goes, a barbaric savage thief Always and forever at impotence they sneer Restless and rude, they thrive on fear	Art is for the soft, arms are for the strong Might is right, the rest is wrong Ignorance is power, virtue is a bane Violated the timid, the halt and the lame Bonded in hatred by deep racial scars The tribe is his home, his loyalty is sure Leather-clad warriors are looking for a war So keep to your houses and bolt fast the door
Sentry (words: Prior/ music: psalm tune by Joseph Gelineau/ arr. Prior/Holland/Donockley) One suggestion put forward for the believed success of Arthur is his use of horses. This song is set in the form of a psalm with part of the Compline, or night service included, to give an indication of the rise of Christianity at this time.
The blood-lines of our horses are hazy now Those who would know them are lost or gone away We have cleared fields and pastures four our herds They are steady friends, sure-footed and well fed We fly on the wind to keep the enemy guessing We travel in the nigh to catch them sleeping They dare not leave their villages unprotected Or we will swoop down and carry off their dear ones The old hill-forts are our bivouacs at night The old roman towns our hiding place The Latin tongue has dried up here long ago Blown on the dust of the departing legions Save us O Lord while waking And guard us while sleeping That awake we may watch with care And asleep may rest in peace We harry the enemy who lumbers along on foot They are better seafarers than land fighters They stick together, there's a safety in numbers For we pick off any strays or small scouting parties We surprise him in the morning and kill him as he runs Over land we know because our fathers farmed it. Arthur has made us into a tight fighting unit On fast ponies to confuse and rattle the invaders
Once and Future King (Prior/Holland/Donockley) Arthur's achievement was short-live. He probably held the English in East Anglia, Kent and Sussex for twenty years or so, but when he died the tribes fragmented again and the invaders were settled enough to bring over their monarchy. They gained ascendancy and eventually drove the Britons back to the hills of Wales and Cumbria and into Cornwall. Many had already fled to Brittany, and eventually settled there. The Celts had a cult of the head, and one of their stories is of Bran who was decapitated, but continued to speak and enjoy the company of his companions, until one of their number opened the forbidden set of doors (O, perfidy!) and Bran finally died. He was taken to be buried on a hill looking to the coast and it was said that he would return if ever the land was in need. This image of talismanic protection is a powerful one and appeals to our vulnerability and was incorporated into the later stories of Arthur.
The seed has blown The bird has flown The sap returns to earth The chocking weeds Spawn their seeds O sweet garden overgrown	There is a promise made A promise of return When all is care and pain. The Once and Future King Will return to his own And make the garden bloom again.
Reynardine (trad. arr. Prior/Holland/Donockley) Seduction songs are not uncommon in the tradition, but this one is riveting in its accuracy. A shy character attempts to seduce a young girl, who is singularly unimpressed until he tells her that he is being sought by the authorities. At this proof of his anti-establishment/anti-hero status she becomes romantically inclined, in the time-honoured tradition of maidens everywhere. Robin Hood/Che Guevara/ bad lads can be very attractive figures. And, in the continuing veracity of the song, once he has gained intimacy he becomes evasive. Bu she hooked, and follows after him, asking his name. This telling tale of an eternal theme is underpinned by a most glorious and poignant tune.
One evening as I rambled among the springing thyme I overheard a young woman conversing with Reynardine Her hair was black, her eyes were blue and her mouth as red as wine And he smiled to look upon her did the sly bold Reynardine She said young man be civil and my company forsake For my good opinion, I fear you are some rake He said my dear I am no rake brought up in Venus train But I'm searching for concealment, all from the judges men Her cherry cheeks and her ruby lips they lost their former dye And she fell into his arms there all on the mountain high They hadn't kissed but once or twice till she came to again And modestly she asked him, pray tell to me your name He says if by chance you look for me perhaps you'll not me find But I'll be in my castle, enquire for Reynardine Day and night she followed him, his teeth so bright did shine And he's led her over the mountain, did the sly bold Reynardine
Hail the Ball (Prior/Donockley) Folk customs of Britain are surprisingly vibrant in our computer/digital age. Often extremely violent or challenging, they provide an outlet for those energies not exorcised by organised football or other physical exertions. This is a picture of the Cumbrian, Workington Easter custom of the 'Uppies and Downies'. It is a centuries-old game of rugby-type anarchy between two 'ends' of the town. Toy grew up in Workington and his draws heavily on his knowledge and experience.
They're gathering at Cloffocks In the late afternoon Testosterone in T shirts The game's beginning soon An ancient war-like stuggle For the Park or harbour wall The Uppies and the Downies Wage a battle for the ball Hail, hail the ball Hail the barbarians Running along the Harbour Wall	The ball is up, they're in the beck The scrum is hard and tight The ball flies out away they run The beat the failing light. They're ploughing up the cricket pitch And allotments of the town. Stand back, stand back, bystander Or the scrum will run you down Laughing, pushing flexing style Dark determined eyes. Thousands crowd the high-ground Murmuring asides. They think the ball is the pack In the blood and muck and dirt. But there are no rules in this game. It's stuffed up Millican's shirt.
The Duke of Marlborough (trad. arr. Prior/Holland/Donockley) The first Lord Marlborough, John Churchill, was an able general and an adroit politician who dodged his way through several changes of monarchy and their religions with great success, hence establishing Blenheim Palace and the wealth and power of the Churchill family. This is probably a Victorian song, at the height of Empire, given the gung-ho style of the lyrics.
You generals all and champions bold that take delight in field That knock down palaces and castle walls but now to death must yield I am an Englishman by birth, Lord Marlborough is my name In Devonshire I drew my breath, a place of noted fame I was beloved by all my men, kings and princes likewise It's many a town I often took, and did the world surprise King Charles the Second I did serve to face the foe in France And at the battle of Ramilles I boldly did advance The sun was down, the earth did shake, how loudly did I cry Fight on, my lads, for old England's sake, we'll conquer or we'll die That very day my horse got shot, 'twas by a musket ball And as I mounted up again, my aide-de-camp did fall Now on a bed of sickness lie, I am resigned to die You generals all and champions bold stand true as well as I Stand true my lads and bribes but fight with courage bold I led my men through smoke and fire but never bribed by gold
Fanny Blair (trad. arr. Prior/Holland/Donockley) This song speaks about the taboo of sex with the under-aged and the hypocrisy and political wrangling that often go with it.
It was last Monday morning as I lay on my bed A young friend came to me and unto me said Rise up Henry Higgins and flee you elsewhere For they're bound out against you by the young Fanny Blair Fanny Blair is a girl of eleven years old And if I must die then the truth I'll unfold I never had dealings with her in my time But now I must die for another man's crime On the day of the trial Squire Vernon was there And on the green table they've lifted Fanny Blair And the lies that she swore to I'm ashamed for to tell But the judge spoke up quick, saying 'You've told it right well' Henry Higgins of Branfield, O whither art thou flown? It's you're a poor prisoner condemned and alone If Jackie McNiell of Newcastle was here In spite of old Vernon we'd soon have you clear On the day that young Higgins was condemned for to die The people rose up with a murmuring cry We'll catch her and crop her, she's a perjuring little whore Young Henry is innocent, of that we're very sure Just one thing remains before my life do end Don't bury me in some old prison ground so far from many a friend Leave my body to lie in the sweet Branfiels mould And I pray the Lord pardons that little girl's soul
Lark in the Morning (trad. arr. Prior/Holland/Donockley) This deceptively simple song has been in my repertoire longer than any other folk song. It has that total Arcadian sweep that puts it in the style of tune that Vaughan-Williams loved and used in his own writing, and is a delight to sing.
Lay still my fond shepherd and don't you rise yet It's a fine dewy morning and besides, my love, it is wet Oh let it be wet my love and ever so cold I will rise, my fond Floro and away to my fold Oh no, my bright Floro, it is no such thing It's a bright sun a-shining and the lark is on the wing Oh the lark in the morning she rises from her nest And she mounts in the air with the dew around her breast And like a pretty ploughboy she'll whistle and sing And at night she will return to her own nest again When the ploughboy has done all he's got for to do He trips down to the meadows where the grass is all cut down.