Lady Gay- P. Fitzgerald (VA) 1918 Sharp MS
[My title. Version with music from Bronson TTCB, II No. 38, 1962. Sharp MSS, 4218/3039. See Sharp's diary notes below. Sharp collected at least three version from the Fitzgerald family (See version M and MS). Philander is the father of Clinton. Cf. Clinton's version-- C. Fitzgerald.
R. Matteson 2015]
Sharp diary 1918 page 130. Tuesday 7 May 1918 - Nash, Virginia
We have some lunch and then sally forth and call on Mr Philander L. Fitzgerald (father of Clinton of Afton) and his blind wife, with whom we spend several delightful hours. He sang several excellent songs and is a really delightful old man 76 years old. We got a corrupt version of John o’ Hazelgreen from him & several others. They live in a very small cabin high on the mountain side. Return about 6.30 and make ourselves some tea.
[Lady Gay] Sung by Philander Fitzgerald Nash, Va., May 7, 1918.
There was a lady gay
And children she had three;
She sent them away to the north country
To learn their grammaree.
They had not ben gone very long,
Scarcely six months and a day,
Before cold death came hastening along
And stole those babes away.
3. She cried aloud: There's a King in Heaven,
They say He wears a crown.
Pray send me back my babes to-night,
Or in the morning soon.
4. When Christmas time was drawing nigh,
And the nights getting long and cold,
Those pretty little babes- came hastening along
Down to their mother's home.
5. She set the table in the room
And on it spread bread and wine.
Come eat, come drink, my sweet little babes,
Come eat and drink of mine.
6. We do not want Your bread, mother,
Neither do we want Your wine,
For yonder stands our sweet Saviour,
He is always our design.
7. She set her bed all in the back-room,
And on it spread a fine sheet,
And on the top a golden spread,
That the better they might sleep.
8. Rise up, rise up, said the oldest one,
The chickens soon will crow,
And yonder stands our sweet Saviour,
And to him we will go.
9. Rise up, rise up, said the next oldest one,
This night you'll see no more-
Woe be unto this wicked world
And those who dwell below.
10. Place a marble stone at our head, mother,
And cold clay at our feet,
For the tears you have shed for us, mother,
Would wet our winding sheet.