Sally and Johnnie Cope

The Easy Reading Project


Sally in our Alley



  Sally in our Alley

 By Henry Carey

Of all the girls that are so smart,

There’s none like pretty Sally;

She is the darling of my heart,

And lives in our alley.

There is no lady in the land,

That’s half as sweet as Sally.

She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley. 
 

Her father he makes cabbage-nets,

An thro’ the streets does cry ‘em;

Her mother she sells laces long,

To such as please to buy ‘em;

But sure such folks could ne’er beget

So sweet a girl as Sally.

She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley. 
 

When she is by, I leave my work,

I love her so sincerely:

My master comes, like any Turk,

And bangs me most severely;

But, let him use me as he will,

I’ll bear it all for Sally

She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley. 
 

Of all the days that’s in the week,

I dearly love but one day,

And that’s the day that comes between

A Saturday and Monday;

For then I’m dress’d all in my best

To walk abroad with Sally

She is the darling of my heart
And lives in our alley
 

My master carries me to church,

And often I am blamed;

Because I leave him in the lurch,

As soon as text is named:

I leave the church in sermon time,

And slink away to Sally;

She is the darling of my heart
And lives in our alley.
 

When Christmas comes about again,

Oh, then I shall have money,

I’ll board it up, and box and all,

I’ll give it to my honey;

And would it were ten thousand pounds,

I’d give it all to Sally;

She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.
 

My master and the neighbours all,

Make game of me and Sally;

And, but for her, I’d better be

A slave, and row a galley;

But when my seven long years are past,

Oh, then I’ll marry Sally:

And then how happily we’ll live,
But not in our alley.




From Our National Songs, edited by A. H. Miles, circa 1890

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Johnnie Cope


Johnnie Cope 

 By Adam Skirving

Hey!  Johnnie Cope, are ye waukin’ yet?

Or are your drums a-beating yet? 

If ye were wauking’ I wad wait

To gang to the coals in the morning.


Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar,

Charlie meet me an ye daur,

And I’ll learn you the art of war,

If you meet with me in the morning.
 

When Charlie look’d the letter upon,

He drew his sword the scabbard from,

Come follow me my merry merry men,

And we’ll meet Johnnie Cope in the morning.
 

“Now, Johnnie, be as good’s your word:

Come let us try both fire and sword;

And dinna rin li'e a frightened bird,

That’s chased frae its nest in the morning.”
 

When Johnnie Cope he heard o’ this,

He thought it wadna be amiss,

To ha’e a horse in readiness

To flee away in the morning.
 

Fly now, Johnnie, get up and rin,

The Highland Bagpipes make a din;

It’s best to sleep in a hale skin,

For ‘twill be a bluidy morning.
 

When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came,

They speer’d at him, “Where’s a’ your men?”

The deil confound me gin I ken,

For I left them a’ I’ the morning!
 

“Now, Johnnie, troth ye are na blate

To come wi’ the news o’ ain defeat;

And leave your men in sic a strait

Sae early in the morning.”
 

“In faith.” Quo’ Johnnie “I got sic flegs

Wi’ their claymores and philabegs;

If I face them again, deil break my legs –

So I wish you a guide morning.”



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Sir John Cope was the incompetent Commander of the little government army, first opposed to Prince Charles Stuart, September, 1745.  The battle ground was in the midst of a coalfield, from which Edinburgh was for centuries supplied with most its fuel.

 

Blate, modest ; flegs, fears ; claymore, sword ; philabeg, kilt

 

      From Our National Songs, edited by A. H. Miles, circa 1890
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