[My Own Pretty Boy] Lord Randall- Mrs. Ann Welsh (ME) 1907 Barry V
[My title. From: Irish Come-All-Ye's by Phillips Barry; The Journal of American Folklore, Vol. 22, No. 86 (Oct. - Dec., 1909), pp. 374-388. This is version V from Folk-Songs of the North Atlantic States. Bronson (No. 70) gives informants name, Barry only gives A.W.
R. Matteson 2011, 2014]
[MY OWN PRETTY BOY] (Lord Randall)- "Lord Randall," V, Folk-Songs of the North Atlantic States, from Mrs. Ann Welsh, Brunswick, Maine, native of Co. Clare. September 4, 1907.
1. "Where were you all day, my own pretty boy?
Where were you all day, my heart's loving joy?"
"I was fishing and fowling, mother, make my bed soon,
I'm sick to my heart, and I want [1] to lie down."
2. "What had you for dinner, my own pretty boy?
What had you for dinner, my heart's loving joy?"
"I had salt eels and pizen, mother, make my bed soon,
I'm sick to my heart, and I want to lie down."
3. "What will you leave your brother, my own pretty boy,
What will you leave your brother, my heart's loving joy?"
"I leave him my horse and my hounds, mother, make my bed soon,
I'm sick to my heart, and I want to lie down."
4. "What will you leave your sister, my own pretty boy?
What will you leave your sister, my heart's loving joy?"
"I leave her a fortune, mother, make my bed soon,
I'm sick to my heart, and I want to lie down."
5. "What will you leave your father, my own pretty boy?
What will you leave your father, my heart's loving joy?"
"I leave him my blessing, mother, make my bed soon,
I'm sick to my heart, and I want to lie down."
6. "What will you leave your girl, my own pretty boy?
What will you leave your girl, my heart's loving joy?"
"I leave her a barrel of powder, to blow her up high![2]
For I'm sick to the heart, and I want to lie down." [3]
1. Or "faint."
2. Or "blaze her up high."
3. Two stanzas of another version ("Lord Randall," W, from G., an Irish singer living in Brunswick, Maine) are worthy of inclusion here, by way of comparison: -
"What is it you leave to your mother, my handsome fine boy?
What is it you leave to your mother, my heart's loving joy?"
"The gates of Heaven open, mother make my bed soon,
For I 'm sick to the heart, and I want to lie down."
"What is it you leave to your wife, my handsome fine boy?
What is it you leave to your wife, my heart's loving joy ?"
"The gates of Hell open, mother make my bed soon,
For I 'm sick to the heart, and I want to lie down."
A melody to an unrecorded version of this ballad is in the Complete Petrie Collection of Irish Music, No. 330o. Cf. also P. W. Joyce, Old Irish Folk-Music, p. 394. A Gaelic version, taken down from one Rogers of Co. Roscommon, has been published by Douglas
Hyde (Eriu, ii, 77, An Irish folk-ballad).