| |
| MERRILY, merrily rung the bells, | |
| The bells of St. Michael’s tower, | |
| When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife | |
| Arrived at St. Michael’s door. | |
| |
| Richard Penlake was a cheerful man, | 5 |
| Cheerful and frank and free; | |
| But he led a sad life with Rebecca his wife, | |
| For a terrible shrew was she. | |
| |
| Richard Penlake a scolding would take, | |
| Till patience availed no longer; | 10 |
| Then Richard Penlake his crab-stick would take, | |
| And show her that he was the stronger. | |
| |
| Rebecca his wife had often wished | |
| To sit in St. Michael’s chair; | |
| For she should be the mistress then | 15 |
| If she had once sat there. | |
| |
| It chanced that Richard Penlake fell sick; | |
| They thought he would have died: | |
| Rebecca his wife made a vow for his life, | |
| As she knelt by his bedside. | 20 |
| |
| “Now hear my prayer, St. Michael! and spare | |
| My husband’s life,” quoth she; | |
| “And to thine altar we will go, | |
| Six marks to give to thee.” | |
| |
| Richard Penlake repeated the vow; | 25 |
| For woundily sick was he: | |
| “Save me, St. Michael! and we will go, | |
| Six marks to give to thee.” | |
| |
| When Richard grew well, Rebecca his wife | |
| Teased him by night and by day: | 30 |
| “O mine own dear! for you I fear, | |
| If we the vow delay.” | |
| |
| Merrily, merrily rung the bells, | |
| The bells of St. Michael’s tower, | |
| When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife | 35 |
| Arrived at St. Michael’s door. | |
| |
| Six marks they on the altar laid, | |
| And Richard knelt in prayer: | |
| She left him to pray, and stole away | |
| To sit in St. Michael’s chair. | 40 |
| |
| Up the tower Rebecca ran, | |
| Round and round and round: | |
| ’T was a giddy sight to stand atop, | |
| And look upon the ground. | |
| |
| “A curse on the ringers for rocking | 45 |
| The tower!” Rebecca cried, | |
| As over the church battlements | |
| She strode with a long stride. | |
| |
| “A blessing on St. Michael’s chair!” | |
| She said, as she sat down: | 50 |
| Merrily, merrily rung the bells, | |
| And out Rebecca was thrown. | |
| |
| Tidings to Richard Penlake were brought, | |
| That his good wife was dead: | |
| “Now shall we toll for her poor soul | 55 |
| The great church-bell?” they said. | |
| |
| “Toll at her burying,” quoth Richard Penlake, | |
| “Toll at her burying,” quoth he; | |
| “But don’t disturb the ringers now, | |
| In compliment to me.” | 60 |
| |
