Green Grow the Rushes

Green Grow the Rushes

Traditional Songs & Chants

Many of these songs and chants were seasonal and hid within their lines subtle references to the generative properties of the land itself and the changes our Mother the Earth goes through each season. Others were more for simple enjoyment of celebrating the first planting of the seeds (of many sorts) and also in homage and thanks to the last of the harvested from both field and beast.

Some songs were designed to be recited while Witches took part in such activities as Treading the Mill to raise power for reason of both boon and bane. Still others hold within their verses the mystery of shapeshifting and of magic and change both external and internal. Some are used as counting songs, catechisms in the form of an aural ars memoria. We hope you enjoy browsing this collection of songs and chants.

The Banished Man

There were three ladies lived in a bower,
Eh vow bonnie
And they went out to pull a flower.
On the bonnie banks o Fordie

They hadna pu’ed a flower but ane,
When up started to them a banisht man.

He’s taen the first sister by her hand,
And he’s turned her round and made her stand.

‘It’s whether will ye be a rank robber’s wife,
Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?'

'It’s I’ll not be a rank robber’s wife,
But I’ll rather die by your wee pen-knife.‘

He’s killed this may, and he’s laid her by,
For to bear the red rose company.

He’s taken the second ane by the hand,
And he’s turned her round and made her stand.

‘It’s whether will ye be a rank robber’s wife,
Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?'

'I’ll not be a rank robber’s wife,
But I’ll rather die by your wee pen-knife.‘

He’s killed this may, and he’s laid her by,
For to bear the red rose company.

He’s taken the youngest ane by the hand,
And he ‘s turned her round and made her stand.

Says, ‘Will ye be a rank robber’s wife,
Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?'

'I’ll not be a rank robber’s wife,
Nor will I die by your wee pen-knife.
‘For I hae a brother in this wood.
And gin ye kill me, it ‘s he’ll kill thee.'

'What’s thy brother’s name? come tell to me.’
‘My brother’s name is Baby Lon.'

'0 sister, sister, what have I done!
0 have I done this ill to thee!

‘0 since I’ve done this evil deed,
Good sall never be seen o me.‘

He’s taken out his wee pen-knife,
And he’s twyned himsel o his ain sweet life.

Mill Chant Used by Witches in Devonshire

Air, wheel, Air blow,
Make the mill of magic go
Turn the power we send to you
Eman hetan, hau he hu!

Fire bright, Fire burn
Make the mill of magic turn.
Spin the power we send to you.
Eman hetan hau he hu!

Water bubble, water flow,
Turn the mill of magic so.
Grind the power we send to you,
Eman hetan, hau he hu!

Earth ye be our kith and kin,
Make the mill of magic spin.
Send the power we send to you,
Eman hetan, hau he hu!

Tom o ‘Bedlam’s Song

From the hag and hungry goblin
That into rags would rend ye,
The spirit that stands by the naked man
In the Book of Moons, defend ye.

That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken,
Nor wander from your selves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon,
While I do sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink or clothing;
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

Of thirty bare years have I
Twice twenty been enragèd,
And of forty been three times fifteen
In durance soundly cagèd.
On the lordly lofts of Bedlam
With stubble soft and dainty,
Brave bracelets strong, sweet whips, ding-dong,
With wholesome hunger plenty,
And now I sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink or clothing;
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

With a thought I took for Maudlin,
And a cruse of cockle pottage,
With a thing thus tall, sky bless you all,
I befell into this dotage.
I slept not since the Conquest,
Till then I never wakèd,
Till the roguish boy of love where I lay
Me found and stript me nakèd.
While I do sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink or clothing;
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

When I short have shorn my sow’s face
And swigged my horny barrel,
In an oaken inn, I pound my skin
As a suit of gilt apparel;
The moon’s my constant mistress,
And the lovely owl my marrow;
The flaming drake and the night crow make
Me music to my sorrow.
While I do sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink or clothing;
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

The palsy plagues my pulses
When I prig your pigs or pullen
Your culvers take, or matchless make
Your Chanticleer or Sullen.
When I want provant, with Humphry
I sup, and when benighted,
I repose in Paul’s with waking souls,
Yet never am affrighted.
But I do sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink or clothing;
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

I know more than Apollo,
For oft when he lies sleeping
I see the stars at mortal wars
In the wounded welkin weeping.
The moon embrace her shepherd,
And the Queen of Love her warrior,
While the first doth horn the star of morn,
And the next the heavenly Farrier.
While I do sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink or clothing;
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

The Gypsies, Snap and Pedro,
Are none of Tom’s comradoes,
The punk I scorn, and the cutpurse sworn
And the roaring boy’s bravadoes.
The meek, the white, the gentle,
Me handle not nor spare not;
But those that cross Tom Rynosseross
Do what the panther dare not.
Although I sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink or clothing;
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

With an host of furious fancies,
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear and a horse of air
To the wilderness I wander.
By a knight of ghosts and shadows
I summoned am to tourney
Ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end:
Methinks it is no journey.
Yet I will sing, Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink or clothing;
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

17th Century Shapeshifting Song

Cunning and art he did not lack;
Aye, her whistle would fetch him back.

O, I shall go into a hare
With sorrow and sighing and mickle care,
And I shall do in the Devil’s name
Aye, till I be fetched hame.
-Hare, take heed of a bitch greyhound
Will harry thee all these fells around,
For here come I in Our Lady’s name
All but to fetch thee hame.

Cunning and art he did not lack;
Aye, her whistle would fetch him back.

Yet I shall go into a trout
With sorrow and sighing and mickle doubt,
And show thee many a merry game
Ere that I be fetched hame.
-Trout, take heed of an otter lank
Will harry thee close from bank to bank,
For here I come in Our Lady’s name
All but to fetch thee hame.

Cunning and art he did not lack;
Aye, her whistle would fetch him back.

Yet I shall go into a bee
With mickle horror and dread of thee,
And flit to hive in the Devil’s name
Ere that I be fetched hame.
-Bee, take head of a swallow hen
Will harry thee close, both butt and ben,
For here come I in Our Lady’s name
All for to fetch thee hame.

Cunning and art he did not lack;
Aye, her whistle would fetch him back.

Yet I shall go into a mouse
And haste me unto the miller’s house,
There in his corn to have good game
Ere that I be fetched hame.
-Mouse, take heed of a white tib-cat
That never was baulked of mouse or rat,
For I’ll crack thy bones in Our Lady’s name:
Thus shalt thou be fetched hame.

Cunning and art he did not lack;
Aye, her whistle would fetch him back.

A Maying Song

If all those young men were like hares on the mountain
Then all those pretty maids would get guns, go a-hunting.
If all those young men were like fish in the water
Then all those pretty maids would soon follow after.

Oh, in the even they go
Merry young men and merry young maids
Down to the woods to seek the bloom
Returning by dawn
The first of May.

If all those young men were like foxes a-hiding
Then all those pretty maids would get hounds, go a-riding.
If all those young men were like quail in the bracken
Then all those pretty maids would soon come a-clapping.

Oh, in the even they…

If all those young men were like fruit on the bramble
Then all those pretty maids would gather a lap full.
If all those young men were like rushes a-growing
Then all those pretty maids would get scythes, go a-mowing.

Oh, in the even…

If all those young men were like oak trees a-biding
Then all those pretty maids would get axes, come hying.
If all those young men were like hilltops a-fire
Then all those pretty maids each a leap would desire.

Oh, in the even…

Hal an Tow (Heel and Toe)

Hal an tow, jolly rumble oh
We were up long before the day oh
To welcome in the summer
To welcome in the may oh
The summer is a-comin’ in
And winter’s gone away oh

Take no scorn to wear the horn
It was a crest when you were born
Your father’s father wore it
And your father wore it too

Hal an tow, jolly rumble oh…

Robin Hood and Little John
Have both gone to the fair oh
And we will to the merry green wood
To hunt the buck and hare oh

Hal an tow, jolly rumble oh…

What happened to the Spaniard
That made so great a boast oh
They shall eat the feathered goose
And we shall eat the roast oh

Hal an tow, jolly rumble oh…

The Lord and Lady bless you
With all their power and might oh
And send their peace upon us
And bring peace by day and night oh

Hal an tow, jolly rumble oh…

Green Grow the Rashes, O

I’ll sing you one, O,
Green grow the rashes, O.
What is your one, O?
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.

(Possible interpretations of the one are: God (the Gods) the monad, the essence of the all that was present before the beginning of creation and will continue beyond the end of all, the entire year cycle in totality.)

I’ll sing you two, O,
Green grow the rashes, O.
What is your two, O?
Two, two, the lilly-white boys, clothed all in green, O,
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.

(Possible interpretations of the two are: the dyadic forms of the Oak King and the Holly King (Gods of the waxing and waning year who battle for supremacy), Cain and Abel.)

I’ll sing you three, O,
Green grow the rashes, O
What is your three, O?
Three, three, the rivals, Two, two, the lilly-white boys, clothed all in green, O,
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.

(Possible interpretations of the three are: The Goddess as represented by Her triadic phases as Maiden or Nymph, Mother, Hag or Crone, they are rivals in the same sense that the Oak and Holly Kings are, rivals for the predominant season. Additionally this verse may refer to three mountains in Wales that have similar features.)

… Four, O,
…
Four for the four wind makers,
Etc.

(Possible interpretations of the four are: The Queens of the Winds Gods mentioned by Robert Cochrane in letters, the Four Wind Gods - Boreas (North), Notus (South), Eurus (East), Zephyrus (West), the four elements represented by earth - air - fire and water.)

…Five, O
…
Five for the symbol at your door,
Etc.

(Possible interpretations of the five are: the Pentagram (or the constellation of Bootes), the Hand with fingers splayed widely and marked with appropriate symbols that would allow one to recognize what Family or House you were connected with or corded to (also used to show the five stages of a person’s life - Life, Love, Maternity, Wisdom, and Death), additionally used to ward off evil when placed above the door in the same manner as a horseshoe.)

…Six, O
…
Six for the six proud walkers,
Etc.

(Possible interpretations of the six are: the six lines that make up the Hagal or Hagalaz Rune (that resembles a snowflake) that signifies the Mother Rune if viewed from the Rune Seed Pattern, Dame Holda, the six directions, East, West, North, South, Above and Below, the six Wanderers who visit one in the realm of the oneiric landscape bringing teachings and tidings.)

…Seven, O
…
Seven for the seven stars in the sky,
Etc.

(Possible interpretations of the seven are: The Seven Sisters, the constellation known as the Pleiades, other possible constellations names are the Plough or Hellwain, Cassipoea the Court of Don or Llys Don.)

…Eight, O
…
Eight for the April Rainers,
Etc.

(Possible interpretations of the eight are: the eightfold wheel of division for the year in the celebration of Sabbat-tides by those groups who celebrate all eight, the constellation Hyades also known as the Rainy Hyades which rises heliacally with the Sun in the month of April, also possibly a reference to the powers of the Ogdoad. Additionally April Rainers may be a corruption of Eight Bold Reigners referring to the Kings named Henry.)

…Nine, O
Nine for the Nine Bright Shiners,
Etc.

(Possible interpretations of the nine are: The Nine Muses, the Traditional Nine Foot Circle or Compass used by Witches, the Nine prevalent Feasting and Fire Festivals of the year, the Nine great beings recognized in the forms of the Four Kings of the Castles of the Directions and Elements, Lucet (The Shining Archer), Carenos (The Puckish Knave), Node (The Boatman), Tettens (The Black Rider) and their Female counterparts or Mates with You, Yourself making the Ninth.)

Some versions of this song, which was called an Archer’s song by Robert Cochrane, had twelve verses with the final three having predominant Christian folklore and symbolism when researched. This song was used primarily as a teaching tool, a counting song, a catechism of sorts.

Alternate titles for this song are: I’ll Sing you One Oh, The Dilly Song. The last three verses as given to Joseph Wilson by one of his early teachers as noted in folklore were as follows:

• Ten for The Lady’s Girdle,
• Eleven Maidens in a Dance,
• Twelve for the Wren in Ivy

Song Sung by Basque Witches

Har har hou hou!
Eman hetan! Eman hetan!
Har har hou hou!
Janicot! Janicot! Janicot! Janicot!
Har har hou hou!
Yona Gorril, Yona Gorril,
Akhera Goiti, Akhera Beiti.

Hind Horn

In Scotland there was a babie born,
And his name it was called young Hind Horn.
Lilie lal, etc. With a fal lal, etc.

He sent a letter to our king
That he was in love with his daughter Jean.

He’s gien to her a silver wand,
With seven living lavrocks sitting thereon.

She’s gien to him a diamond ring,
With seven bright diamonds set therein.

“When this ring grows pale and wan,
You may know by it my love is gane.

One day as he looked his ring upon,
He saw the diamonds pale and wan.

He left the sea and came to land,
And the first that he met was an old beggar man.

“What news, what news?” said young Hind Horn;
“No news, no news,” said the old beggar man.

“No news,” said the beggar, “no news at a’,
But there’s a wedding in the king’s ha.

“But there is a wedding in the king’s ha,
That has halden these forty days and twa.”

“Will ye lend me your begging coat?
And I’ll lend you my scarlet cloak.

“Will you lend me your beggar’s rung?
And I’ll gie you my steed to ride upon.

“Will you lend me your wig o hair,
To cover mine, because it is fair?”

The auld beggar man was bound for the mill,
But young Hind Horn for the king’s hall.

The auld beggar man was bound for to ride,
But young Hind Horn was bound for the bride.

When he came to the king’s gate,
He sought a drink for Hind Horn’s sake.

The bride came down with a glass of wine,
When he drank out of the glass, and dropt in the ring.

“O got ye this by sea or land?
Or got ye it off a dead man’s hand?”

“I got not it by sea, I got it by land,
And I got it, madam, out of your own hand.”

“O I’ll cast off my gowns of brown,
And beg wi you frae town to town.

“O I’ll cast off my gowns of red,
And I’ll beg wi you to win my bread.”

“Ye needna cast off your gowns of brown,
For I’ll make you lady o many a town.

“Ye needna cast off your gowns of red,
It’s only a sham, the begging o my bread.”

The bridegroom he had wedded the bride,
But young Hind Horn he took her to bed.

This is the Taper that Lights the Way

This is the taper that lights the way.
This is the cloak that covers the stone
That sharpens the knife.
That cuts the cord
That binds the staff.
That is owned by the Maid.
That tends the fire.
That boils the pot
That scalds the sword.
That fashions the bridge.
That crosses the ditch.
That compasses the hand.
That knocks the door.
That fetches the watch.
That releases the man.
That turns the Mill.
That grinds the corn.
That bakes the cake.
That feeds the hound.
That guards the gate.
That hides a maze.
That is worth a light.
And into the house that Jack built.

Maypole Song from the film The Wicker Man

In the woods there grew a tree,
And a very fine tree was he.
And on that tree there was a limb,
And on that limb there was a branch,
And on that branch there was a spray,
And on that spray there was a nest,
And in that nest there was an egg,
And in that egg there was a bird,
And on that bird there was a feather,
And on that feather was a bed,
And on that bed there was a girl,
And on that girl there was a man,
And from that man there was a seed.
And from that seed there was a boy,
And from that boy there was man,
And from that man there was a grave,
And on that grave there grew a tree.
In the Summerisle wood.

Rattlin’ Bog

Chorus:
Hey, ho, the rattlin’ bog,
The bog down in the valley-o.
Hey, ho, the rattlin’ bog,
The bog down in the valley-o.

There was a tree down in the bog,
A rare tree, a rattlin’ tree,
The tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-o.

Chorus

Now on that tree there was a branch,
A rare branch, a rattlin’ branch,
And the branch on the tree,
And the tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-o.

Chorus

Now on that branch there was a twig,
A rare twig, a rattlin’ twig,
And the twig on the branch,
And the branch on the tree,
And the tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-o.

Chorus

Now on that twig there was a nest,
A rare nest, a rattlin’ nest,
And the nest on the twig,
And the twig on the branch,
And the branch on the tree,
And the tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-o.

Chorus

Now in that nest there was a bird,
A rare bird, a rattlin’ bird,
And the bird in the nest,
And the nest on the twig,
And the twig on the branch,
And the branch on the tree,
And the tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-o.

Chorus

Now on that bird there was a feather,
A rare feather, a rattlin’ feather,
And the feather on the bird,
And the bird in the nest,
And the nest on the twig,
And the twig on the branch,
And the branch on the tree,
And the tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-o.

Chorus

Now on that feather there was a bug,
A rare bug, a rattlin’ bug,
And the bug on the feather,
And the feather on the bird,
And the bird in the nest,
And the nest on the twig,
And the twig on the branch,
And the branch on the tree,
And the tree in the bog,
And the bog down in the valley-o!

Chorus

Cornish May Carol - The Padstow May Song

Unite and unite and let us all unite
For summer is a-come unto day
And wither we are going, we will all unite
In the merry morning of May

With a merry ring and now the joyful spring
O give us a cup of ale and the merrier we will sing

The young men of Padstow, they might if they would
They might have built a ship and gilded it all in gold

The young women of Padstow, they might if they would
They might have built a garland of the white rose and the red

Where are those young men that now here should dance?
For some they are in England and some they are in France

O where is St. George?
O where is he o ?
He’s out in his longboat
All on the salt sea-o
Up flies the kite
Down falls the lark-o
And Ursula Birdhood she had an old ewe
And she died in her own park-o

With a merry ring and now the joyful spring
So happy are those little birds and the merrier we will sing

John Barleycorn

There was three men came out of the west,
Their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow,
John Barleycorn should die.
They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in,
Throwed clods upon his head,
And these three men made a solemn vow,
John Barleycorn was dead.

Then they let him lie for a very long time
Till the rain from heaven did fall,
Then little Sir John sprung up his head,
And soon amazed them all.
They let him stand till midsummer
Till he looked both pale and wan,
And little Sir John he growed a long beard
And so became a man.

They hired men with the scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee,
They rolled him and tied him by the waist,
And served him most barbarously.
They hired men with the sharp pitchforks
Who pricked him to the heart,
And the loader he served him worse than that,
For he bound him to the cart.

They wheeled him round and round the field
Till they came unto a barn,
And there they made a solemn mow
Of poor John Barleycorn.
They hired men with the crab-tree sticks
To cut him skin from bone,
And the miller he served him worse than that,
For he ground him between two stones.

Here’s little Sir John in a nut-brown bowl,
And brandy in a glass;
And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
Proved the stronger man at last.
And the huntsman he can’t hunt the fox,
Nor so loudly blow his horn,
And the tinker he can’t mend kettles or pots
Without a little of Barleycorn.

Dick Darval’s Song

I saw a young man come one night
An apple in his hand.
By moonlight and candlelight
We find the Mollhern Land

I saw a young stag come one night
All weeping bitterly
By moonlight and candlelight
We find the gallows tree.

Transvective Calls and Chants

• Horse and hattock, horse and go! Horse and pellatis, ho, ho, ho!
• Thout, tout a tout tout, throughout and about. To return cry: Rentum tormentum
• Over thick, over thin, till we come to Hegmore’s Inn

Chime Child

Maddy was a chimechild, born the eve of Allerntide,
Folks were certain she’d grow up, and be the devil’s bride.
Oh Maddy was an unket one, she’d cast you with her stare,
Chats up with spirit folk, nods and laughs to just the air.

With spunkies as her playmates, deep in the darkest fen,
Maddy was a right odd girl by the time that she was ten.
Her Mawther kept her home the year, she niffer had been schooled,
Our Maddy’s pawkier than the rest, tis true she had them fooled.

She mayen’t know her letters or to count her numbers high,
But Maddy kens Auld Grim’s dark signs and knows who’s next to die.
She knows which lad or lass will soon call the kirkyard home,
Evermore to rest beneath the yarth and make the richest loam.

She knows the roots and herbs, the trees and flow’rs too,
To make you strong, to make you weak, or unmake you so true.
She knows the lady of the woods, dressed in her gown o’ green,
The one that all the pelling folk bow down to call their queen.

She knows the fox and raven, the hare and pale white hind,
And if the master’s company she seeks, she knows him where to find.
She finds him with his dandy dogs, a’hunt with his wisht hounds,
A’riding faster than the wind, all o’er the phaerie mounds.

It came to pass when Maddy was naught but seventeen,
She found herself betwixt and she found herself between.
She been aboot the four-wents ways, coming back a’from the fair,
It was there she saw Auld Clootie, a’waiting for her there.

”Dear Maddy” said the De’il, “What a braw, braw thing I seen”,
“You have growed up all tall and fair to be a fine Colleen”.
“I will to hev ya as my wife, to take you as my bride.”
“Lest you can give me reason not by cock crow mornin’tide.”

He asked, “How many elderberries grow in the sea my girl?”
She said “As many as the aiks all found strung up with pearl”.
Auld Clootie edged in closer as if to take her hand,
He wished to keep her near him in this mirksome meadowland.

He asked, “Why is it on the water my hen lays eggs the best?”
She said, “Because your hen was born into a loony’s nest.”
Auld Clootie gazed so deeply into our Maddy’s eyes,
He felt surefoot and certain to take this chime girl as his prize.

He asked, “Where comes each grain of sand found at edge of shore?”
She said, “Beyond a far, far country, seven years behind the door.”
Auld Clootie brattlin snorted then and her cheek did feel his breath,
Maddy stood right still, her eyes a’closed, waiting sure ‘pon her death.

Just then the light rose from the east, and the cock began to crow,
Our Maddy’s heart began to leap when she spied that golden glow.
Auld Clootie fretted, fumed and danced and leapt about enraged.
It seemed he’d have to find another for which he would engage.

Maddy was a chimechild, born the eve of Allerntide,
Folks were certain she’d grow up, and be the devil’s bride.
Oh Maddy was an unket one, she fooled the devil you know,
Watched him leave in a bleeze of smoke so many year’s ago.