The Gypsy Maid

from "Pick of the Literal" by Sean Smith

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This is an unusual version of the Child ballad (no. 200) variously known as “The Raggle-Taggle Gypsies,” “The Gypsy Rover,” “Black Jack Davy,” etc. The familiar narrative, in which rich man’s wife runs away with, or is stolen by, a gypsy* or band of gypsies, is turned on its head here: She’s in fact a gypsy who captures the extreme fancy of an earl, but makes it plain she’s not going to hang around and be his wife, pretty dresses and comfy beds notwithstanding. I came up with the melody, and the recurring quasi-gypsy riff, for the song as part of a larger piece (which incorporated another, more familiar variant of the ballad) with my old band Dark-Eyed Sheep – it’s on our 1983 cassette album, if anyone’s interested.
*NOTA BENE: It bears mentioning that the term "gypsy" is widely considered pejorative, but I've opted to use it here in historical context.

lyrics

There came an early a-riding by when a gypsy maid he did see
Oh nut-brown maid, to her he said, it’s you shall come with me

I’ll take you up, I’ll carry you home, I’ll put the safeguard over you
Oh your shoes shall be of the Spanish leather, silken stockings all of blue

Oh, me brothers three no more I’d see, if ever that I went along with you
I’d rather be torn by thistle and thorn, feel me bare feet in the dew

I’ll lock you in a castle tall, bar you up in a room so high
You gypsy maid from greenwood glade, ne’er a gypsy shall come by

But you’ll ne’er be set in stocks, nor have to trudge from town to town
For you shall ride, in pomp and pride, in velvet and a broidered gown

I’ll pawn my hat, I’ll pawn my gown, I’ll pawn my silken stockings blue
I’ll pawn my petticoat and shift, to follow with the gypsies, oh

All night you lie neath the starry sky, in the rain and show you walk all day
But now your head shall have a feather bed, in the arms of a husband lie

Oh I love to lie neath a starry sky, I do not heed the rain and snow
And I will away, come night or day, to follow with the gypsies, oh

I will thee wed, fair maid, he says, and I’ll give you a golden ring
And you will dance and merry be, make for me a fine wedding

Oh, I’ll not wed kind sir, she said, I won’t wear your ring of gold
And fickle as wind you know I’ll go, along with the gypsies, oh

credits

from "Pick of the Literal", released August 7, 2018

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Sean T. Smith Boston, Massachusetts

Sean Smith has been playing folk music since his teens, with a focus on the traditions of Ireland, Scotland and England in particular. He's been active in the Greater Boston music scene since the early '80s, and been part of numerous collaborations. He also writes about music for BostonIrish.com, helps organize an annual Celtic music festival, and has been known to drink Ballantine Ale. ... more

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