I have discovered a poet who is new to me: Henry Carey, a contemporary of such literary giants as Jonathan Swift, Alexander Pope Richard Steel and Joseph Addison. He knew them personally and was patronized by them. Henry Carey was also a dramatist, a song writer and a balladeer.
Information from Wikipedia:
Henry Carey (c. 26 August 1687 – 5 October 1743) … Several of his melodies continue to be sung today, and he was widely praised in the generation after his death. Because he worked in anonymity, selling his own compositions to others to pass off as their own, contemporary scholarship can only be certain of some of his poetry, and a great deal of the music he composed was written for theatrical incidental music. However, under his own name and hand, he was a prolific song writer and balladeer, and he wrote the lyrics for almost all of these songs. Further, he wrote numerous operas and plays. His life is illustrative of the professional author in the early 18th century. Without inheritance or title or governmental position, he wrote for all of the remunerative venues, and yet he also kept his own political point of view and was able to score significant points against the ministry of the day. Further, he was one of the leading lights of the new “Patriotic” movement in drama.
The ballad that follows has been downloaded from https://archive.org/details/sallyinouralley00care
The Ballad of Sally in our Alley
By Henry Carey
His ARGUMENT for the Ballad.
A Vulgar Error having long prevailed among many Persons, who imagine Sally Salisbury the Subject of this Ballad, the Author begs leave to undeceive and assure them it has not the least allusion to her, he being a stranger to her very Name at the time this Song was composed. For as Innocence and Virtue were ever the Boundaries of his Muse, so in this little Poem he had no other view than to set forth the Beauty of a chaste and disinterested Passion, even in the lowest Class of human Life. The real Occasion was this: A Shoemaker’s ’Prentice making Holiday with his Sweet-heart, treated her with a sight of Bedlam, the Puppet-shews, the Flying-chairs, and all the Elegancies of the Moorfields: From whence proceeding to the Farthing Pye-house, he gave her a Collation of Buns, Cheesecakes, Gammon of Bacon, Stuff’d-beef, and Bottled-ale; through all which Scenes the Author dodged them (charm’d with the Simplicity of their Courtship), from whence he drew this little Sketch of Nature; but being then young and obscure, he was very much ridicul’d by some of his Acquaintance for this Performance; which nevertheless made its way into the polite World, and amply recompenced him by the Applause of the divine Addison, who was pleased (more than once) to mention it with Approbation.
Of all the Girls that are so smart
There’s none like pretty SALLY,
She is the Darling of my Heart,
And she lives in our Alley.
There is no Lady in the Land
Is half so sweet as SALLY,
She is the Darling of my Heart,
And she lives in our Alley.
Her Father he makes Cabbage-nets,
And through 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 she 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 bang his Belly full,
I’ll bear it all for SALLY;
She is the Darling of my Heart,
And she 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 betwixt
A Saturday and Monday;
For then I’m drest, all in my best,
To walk abroad with SALLY;
She is the Darling of my Heart,
And she lives in our Alley.
My Master carries me to Church,
And often am I 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 she lives in our Alley.
When Christmas comes about again,
O then I shall have Money;
I’ll hoard 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 she 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 out,
O then I’ll marry SALLY!
O then we’ll wed and then we’ll bed,
But not in our Alley.
Another version of the last two lines is: And then how happily we’ll live,/ But not in our Alley.
I believe this other version was the original one if we consider what Henry Carey said in his Preface (“Argument”): …Innocence and Virtue were ever the Boundaries of his Muse, so in this little Poem he (the author) had no other view than to set forth the Beauty of a chaste and disinterested Passion, even in the lowest Class of human Life.
The next poem, An Honest Yorkshireman, is no less beautiful. The impression is that you hear the voice of the lyrical hero from the distance of some three centuries. Even the dialectal spelling which reflects the vernacular of the I-narration does not prevent you from grasping what the poem is about. On the contrary, it adds to the charm of expression:
I is i’ truth a coontry youth,
Nean used to Lunnon fashions;
Yet vartue guides, an’ still presides
Ower all my steps an’ passions.
Nea coortly leer, bud all sincere,
Nea bribe shall iver blinnd me ;
If thoo can like a Yorkshire tike,
A rogue thoo’ll niver finnd me.
Thof envy’s tongue, so slimly hung,
Would lee aboot oor coonty,
Nea men o’ t’ earth boast greater worth,
Or mair extend their boonty.
Oor northern breeze wi’ us agrees,
An’ does for wark weel fit us ;
I’ public cares, an’ love affairs,
Wi’ honour We acquit us.
Sea great a maand is ne’er confaand
‘Tiv onny shire or nation,
They gie un meast praise whea weel displays
A larned eddication;
Whaal rancour rolls i’ laatle souls,
By shallow views dissarnin’,
They’re nobbut wise at awlus prize
Good manners, sense, an’ larnin’.
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