An English ballad from 1873
Words and music by Theo. Marzials
The sheet music:
Accompaniment by Denese Coulbeck:
Lyrics
“Oh! ’tis nothing but a shower
But a quarter of an hour
Don’t you think you’d better shelter
By the chestnut tree
For the wind is blowing sweet
And you’ve daisies for your feet
And should you care to dance
I can pipe”, said he
She was going to the town in a fresh print gown
And a dainty colour flies the daintier it be
And the piper’s eyes are blue
And he looks her thro’ and thro’
And the parson’s piping bullfinch
Cannot pipe as sweet and true
And there’s not a bird in June
Knows such a merry tune
As “Marry, merry, merry in the North Countree
With a hey, my lad, and a play, my lad
And merrily I’ll dance to thee”
Now that little summer shower
Must have lasted quite an hour
As I’ve heard a shower
Can do in the North Countree
And she’d got a pretty shoe
She liked to shew it too
But she could not dance forever
Tho’ light was she
So she sat her down to rest
And the rose from her breast
She gave it him so prettily
And oh! sho fair was she
That the piper blushed and sighed
And he stuttered when he tried
To say something about roses
And I don’t know what beside
For she tossed her dainty head
And started up and said
“Merry, merry, merry in the North Countree
But it’s nay, my lad, and it’s play, my lad
And merrily I’ll dance to thee”
Now that little summer shower
Must have ceased for quite an hour
As I’ve heard a shower
Can do in the North Countree
But if you’re in the shade
With a very pretty maid
It cannot matter much
What the weather may be
And he must have said his say
For in his her fingers lay
As he took a thread of meadow grass
And measured for the ring
And she looked him thro’ and thro’
While he vowed he’d loved her true
Since the day he shared her book at church
And heard her sweetly sing
And not, any one that June
Sang such a merry tune
As “Merry, merry, merry in the North Countree
With away my lad, and a-stay my lad
And I’ll live and I’ll die for thee, for thee
I’ll live and I’ll die for thee”
Sung here by Laurence Rubenstein: