MAKING MY WILL (Father Abdey's Will)
To my dear wife, my joy and life
I freely now do give her
My whole estate and all my plate,
Being just about to leave her.
A tub of soap, a long cart rope,
A frying pan and kettle,
An ashes pail, a thrashing frail
An iron wedge and beetle.
Two patent chairs, nine worden pairs
A large old dripping platter
The bed of hay on which I lay
An old sauce pan for batter,
A little mug, a tin quart jug
A bottle full of brandy,
A looking glass to see your face,
You will find it very handy.
A musket true as ever flew,
A pound of shot and wallet,
A leather sash, my calabash,
A powder horn and bullet.
An old sword blade, a garden spade,
A hoe, a rake, and ladder,
A wooden can, a close stool pan,
A clister pipe and bladder,
A greasy hat, my old tom cat,
A yard and half of linen,
A woolen fleece, a pot of grease,
In order for your spinning.
A small-tooth comb, an ashen broom,
A candle stick and hatchet,
A coverlet striped down with red,
A bag of rags to patch it.
A ragged mat, a tub of fat
A book put out by Bunyan,
Another book by Robbin Cook,
A skein or two of spun yarn,
An old black muff, some garden stuff,
A quantity of borage,
Some devil's weed, some burdock seed
To season well your porridge.
A chafing dish with one salt fish,
If I am not mistaken;
A leg of pork, a broken fork,
And half a flich of bacon.
A spinning wheel, one peck of meal,
A knife without a handle,
A rusty lamp, two quarts of ramp,
And half a tallow candle.
My pouch and pipe, two oxen's tripe,
An oaken dish well carved,
My little dog, my speckled hog,
With two young pigs just starved (weaned).
This is my store; I have no more.
I freely now do give it.
My years is spent; my days is done,
And so I think I'll leave it.
From Ballads Migrant in New England, Flanders
Collected From William H. Webster, Wakefield, RI, 1945. Learned
it from his grandfather.
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MAKING MY WILL (Father Abdey's Will)
To my dear wife, my joy and life
I freely now do give her
My whole estate and all my plate,
Being just about to leave her.
A tub of soap, a long cart rope,
A frying pan and kettle,
An ashes pail, a thrashing frail
An iron wedge and beetle.
Two patent chairs, nine worden pairs
A large old dripping platter
The bed of hay on which I lay
An old sauce pan for batter,
A little mug, a tin quart jug
A bottle full of brandy,
A looking glass to see your face,
You will find it very handy.
A musket true as ever flew,
A pound of shot and wallet,
A leather sash, my calabash,
A powder horn and bullet.
An old sword blade, a garden spade,
A hoe, a rake, and ladder,
A wooden can, a close stool pan,
A clister pipe and bladder,
A greasy hat, my old tom cat,
A yard and half of linen,
A woolen fleece, a pot of grease,
In order for your spinning.
A small-tooth comb, an ashen broom,
A candle stick and hatchet,
A coverlet striped down with red,
A bag of rags to patch it.
A ragged mat, a tub of fat
A book put out by Bunyan,
Another book by Robbin Cook,
A skein or two of spun yarn,
An old black muff, some garden stuff,
A quantity of borage,
Some devil's weed, some burdock seed
To season well your porridge.
A chafing dish with one salt fish,
If I am not mistaken;
A leg of pork, a broken fork,
And half a flich of bacon.
A spinning wheel, one peck of meal,
A knife without a handle,
A rusty lamp, two quarts of ramp,
And half a tallow candle.
My pouch and pipe, two oxen's tripe,
An oaken dish well carved,
My little dog, my speckled hog,
With two young pigs just starved (weaned).
This is my store; I have no more.
I freely now do give it.
My years is spent; my days is done,
And so I think I'll leave it.
From Ballads Migrant in New England, Flanders
Collected From William H. Webster, Wakefield, RI, 1945. Learned
it from his grandfather.
To my dear wife, my joy and life
I freely now do give her
My whole estate and all my plate,
Being just about to leave her.
A tub of soap, a long cart rope,
A frying pan and kettle,
An ashes pail, a thrashing frail
An iron wedge and beetle.
Two patent chairs, nine worden pairs
A large old dripping platter
The bed of hay on which I lay
An old sauce pan for batter,
A little mug, a tin quart jug
A bottle full of brandy,
A looking glass to see your face,
You will find it very handy.
A musket true as ever flew,
A pound of shot and wallet,
A leather sash, my calabash,
A powder horn and bullet.
An old sword blade, a garden spade,
A hoe, a rake, and ladder,
A wooden can, a close stool pan,
A clister pipe and bladder,
A greasy hat, my old tom cat,
A yard and half of linen,
A woolen fleece, a pot of grease,
In order for your spinning.
A small-tooth comb, an ashen broom,
A candle stick and hatchet,
A coverlet striped down with red,
A bag of rags to patch it.
A ragged mat, a tub of fat
A book put out by Bunyan,
Another book by Robbin Cook,
A skein or two of spun yarn,
An old black muff, some garden stuff,
A quantity of borage,
Some devil's weed, some burdock seed
To season well your porridge.
A chafing dish with one salt fish,
If I am not mistaken;
A leg of pork, a broken fork,
And half a flich of bacon.
A spinning wheel, one peck of meal,
A knife without a handle,
A rusty lamp, two quarts of ramp,
And half a tallow candle.
My pouch and pipe, two oxen's tripe,
An oaken dish well carved,
My little dog, my speckled hog,
With two young pigs just starved (weaned).
This is my store; I have no more.
I freely now do give it.
My years is spent; my days is done,
And so I think I'll leave it.
From Ballads Migrant in New England, Flanders
Collected From William H. Webster, Wakefield, RI, 1945. Learned
it from his grandfather.