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Come all you good people, some older, some younger,
Some fourteen, some fifteen, some sixteen when they marry,
Here I am forty-five, must yet longer tarry.
I been told by a prophet, I been told by my mother,
Going into a wedding it would soon bring on another;
And if I thought so I would go without bedding,
For you know in my heart I long to be wedding.
There is my sister Syl, she is younger than I am,
Before she was fifteen for a bride she was taken,
Before she was sixteen she had a son and a daughter,
Here am I forty-five and never got the offer.
Come fiddler, come fifer, come brewer, come weaver,
Black-man or rag-man, foolish or witty,
Don't let me die a maid, come and marry me for pity.
Neither fiddler, nor fifer, nor brewer, nor weaver,
Black-man or rag-man, foolish or witty,
Till an old chimey-sweep come and married her for pity.
Oh, now he has got her he rifles her charms,
She lays down quite mournful in his black sooty arms,
Oh, now he has got her he swears he will keep her
While she rolls in the arms of a black chimney-sweeper.
This variant collected in 1958 from Freeman Bennett of St. Paul's, NL, by Kenneth Peacock and published in Songs Of The Newfoundland Outports, Volume 2, p.461, by the National Museum of Canada (1965) Crown Copyrights Reserved.
A variant was also collected by Edith Fulton Fowke (Literary Editor) and Richard Johnston (Music Editor) and published in Folk Songs Of Canada, pp.162-163 (Waterloo Music Company, Waterloo, Ontario, 1954).
