The melody appeared in Beggar’s Opera, 1728, and Fashionable
Lady, 1730.

A FROG HE WOULD (P.P. 32)

The theme of the ballad belongs to the late sixteenth century.

A frog he would a-wooing go,
Heigho! said Rowley,
Whether his mother would let him or no,
With his rowly powly,
Gammon and spinnage,
O heigh! said Anthony Rowley.

We are told that Jack Hopkins sang ‘The King, God Bless Him,’ to a novel air, compounded of ‘The Bay of Biscay’ and ’A Frog He Would.’  The latter was evidently the modern setting by C.E.  Horn.

ALICE GRAY

See ‘Yet Lov’d I.’

ALL HAIL TO THE VESSEL OF PECKSNIFF THE SIRE (M.C. 11)

Perhaps a parody on ‘All Hail to the Chief.’

ALL IN THE DOWNS (P.P. 3)

See ‘Black-Eyed Susan.’

ALL’S WELL (O.C.S. 56).

See p. 125.

Duet in The English Fleet.

(T.  Dibdin) J.  Braham.

    Deserted by the waning moon,
    When skies proclaim night’s cheerless gloom,
    On tower, fort, or tented ground,
    The sentry walks his lonely round;
    And should a footstep haply stray
    Where caution marks the guarded way,
    Who goes there?  Stranger, quickly tell,
    A friend.  The word?  Good-night.  All’s well.

AND SHE SHALL WALK (O.C.S. 66)

Words by Susan Blamire.

    And ye shall walk in silk attire,
      And siller ha’e to spare,
    Gin ye’ll consent to be my bride,
      Nor think on Donald mair.

Susan Blamire was born at Carden Hall, near Carlisle.  Very few of her poems were published under her own name, as well-born ladies of those days disliked seeing their names published as authors.  ‘The Siller Crown,’ from which this verse is taken, is in the Cumberland dialect.  It first appeared anonymously in the Scots Musical Museum, 1790, and the authorship was subsequently settled by members of the family.

AND YOU NEEDN’T, MR. VENUS, BE YOUR BLACK BOTTLE (O.M.F.).

See p. 134.

A STIFF NOR’-WESTER’S BLOWING, BILL (D. & S. 49)

From ‘The Sailor’s Consolation.’

    One night came on a hurricane,
      The seas were mountains rolling,
    When Barney Buntline turned his quid,
      And said to Billy Bowling,
    A stiff Nor’-Wester’s blowing, Bill,
      Hark, don’t you hear it roar now? 
    Lord help ’em! how I pity’s all
      Unhappy folk ashore now.