Children's Rhymes, Children's Games, Children's Songs, Children's Stories Part 15

Sir Alexander:--

Oh, you artful villain, to lay the blame on me!

For my two eyes were shut, sir, when this young man did dee.

Wallace:--

How could your eyes be shut, sir, when you were looking on?

How could your eyes be shut, sir, when both the swords were drawn?

Farmer's Son (to Wallace):--

How can you thus deny the deed? As I stood looking on, You drew your sword from out its sheath, and slashed his body down.

Wallace:--

If I have slain Goloshan, Goloshan I will cure, And I will make him rise and sing in less than half-an-hour; Round the kitchen, round the town, Haste and bring me Dr. Brown.

Dr. Brown enters:--

Here come I, old Dr. Brown, the foremost doctor in the town.

Wallace:--

What makes you so good, sir?

Doctor:--

Why, my travels.

Wallace:--

And where have you travelled?

Doctor:--

From Hickerty-pickerty-hedgehog, three times round the West Indies, and back to old Scotland.

Wallace:--

Is that all?

Doctor:--

No sir. I have travelled from fireside to chairside, from chairside to stoolside, from stoolside to tableside, from tableside to bedside, from bedside to press-side, and got many a lump of bread and b.u.t.ter from my mother; and that's the way my belly's so big.

Wallace:--

Well, what can you cure?

Doctor:--

I can cure the rurvy-scurvy, and the rumble-gumption of a man who has been seven years dead or more, and can make an old woman of sixty look like a girl of sixteen.

Wallace:--

How much would you take to cure this dead man? Would five pounds do?

Doctor (turning away):--

Five pounds! No, five pounds would not get a good kit of brose.

Wallace:--

Would ten pounds do?

Doctor:--

Yes, perhaps ten pounds would do--- that, and a pint of wine. I have a bottle of inky-pinkie in my pocket. (_Approaches Goloshan._) By the hocus-pocus and the magical touch of my little finger; heigh ho!

start up, Jack, and sing!

Goloshan (rises and sings):--

Oh, once I was dead, sir, but now I am alive, And blessed be the doctor that made me revive; We'll all join hands, and never fight no more, We'll all be good fellows, as we have been before.

All four:--

We'll all shake hands and agree, and never fight no more, We'll all be like brothers, as we were once before; G.o.d bless the master of this house, the mistress fair likewise, And all the pretty children that round the table rise.

Go down into your cellar and see what you can find, Your barrels being not empty, we hope you will prove kind; We hope you will prove kind, with whisky and with beer, We wish you a Merry Christmas, likewise a good New Year.

Enter Beelzebub (for the collection):--

Here come I, Old Beelzebub, over my shoulder I carry a club, And in my hand a frying-pan. Am not I a jolly old man?

It's money I want, and money I crave, If ye don't give me money I'll sweep ye to your grave.

Old Beelzebub's appeal not being resisted (for who might dare to resist such?), the picturesque players retire, and proceed from thence merrily to occupy another stage.

Mr. Sandys, it may be noted, in his elegant volume of _Christmas Carols_ (1833), transcribes a play called "St. George," which still is, or used to be, acted at the New Year in Cornwall, exactly after the manner of our Scottish play of "Goloshan" which it resembles as much as various versions of "Goloshan" in Scotland resemble each other. The leading characters, besides St. George himself and the Dragon, which is twice killed, are a Turkish knight and the King of Egypt. It is curious thus, as Dr. Chambers remarks, to find one play, with unimportant variations, preserved traditionally by the common people in parts of the island so distant from each other, and in many respects so different.

It is curious further, and of much interest to note, that in these singing-games, if nowhere else, the country and the city child, the children of the mansion and the children of the alley, meet all, beautifully, on common ground. And, how the out-door ones lie dormant for s.p.a.ces, and spring simultaneously into action in widely separated parts--town and country alike--is a problem which may not be easily solved. It seems to us that, like the songs of birds, they belong to certain seasons, and are suggested, each in its turn, or cla.s.s by cla.s.s, by the feeling in the air. But mark, I say only _seems_, for who may dogmatize on such matters!

CHILDREN'S SONGS AND BALLADS.