The Gypsy Daisy- Couchey (NY) pre1957 Porter
[From: The collection of Marjorie Lansing Porter. This is a rare version that combines "The Hosue Carpenter" with the "Gypsy Davy."
Notes from a recording by Lee Knight follow.
R. Matteson 2015]
"The ballad merges two of the Child Ballads, The Gypsy Davey with The House Carpenter. It also includes a verse from Lord Thomas and Fair Annet (Child 73): 'She dressed herself in rich array....' This is probably a family version since there is a similar text in Mrs Porter's notes attributed to Ora James, sister of Alec."
The Gypsy Daisy-- from the singing of Alec Couchey of Essex NY, August 30, 1957
The Gypsy came tripping o'er the hill,
The Gypsy sang so gaily,
He made the wide, wide wind blow,
And he won the heart of a lady.
Will you forsake your house and farm?
Will you forsake your baby?
Will you forsake your house carpenter
To roam with the Gypsy Daisy?
If I forsake my house and farm,
If I forsake my baby,
If I forsake my house carpenter,
To roam with the Gypsy Daisy.
Have you anything to maintain me upon
And keep me from my slavery?
I have a hundred ships that are out at sea,
All making for dry land,
With two hundred and ten bold jolly sailor men
Who will be at your command.
I will take you to where the grass grows green
On the banks of the sweet Willie.
Then I'll forsake my house and farm,
Then I'll forsake my baby.
And I'll forsake my house carpenter
To roam with the Gypsy Daisy.
Last night I slept on a warm feather bed,
Along with my landlord and baby.
Tonight I'll sleep on the cold, cold ground
Beside the Gypsy Daisy.
She dressed herself in rich array,
And riches to behold.
And every street that she passed through,
She showed her glittering gold.
They had not been at sea but about two weeks,
I'm sure it was not three.
When this young maid began to weep
Then wept most bitterly.
Is it for my gold that you weep,
Or is it for my store?
Or is it for the house carpenter
You never will see any more.
It is not for your gold I weep,
Nor is it for your store.
But it's all for the love of the darling little babe,
That I never will see any more.
They had not been at sea about three weeks,
I'm sure it was not four.
When the ship sprang a leak and she sank in the sea
And she sank to rise no more.
Bad luck, bad luck to all sea-faring maids,
Bad luck to all their lives,
But it's robbing of the house carpenter
And the stealing of their wives.