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A Jug of Punch

[ Roud 1808 ; Ballad Index K278 ; trad.]

A.L. Lloyd sang A Jug of Punch in 1956 on the Riverside album English Drinking Songs. He wrote in the sleeve notes:

This is probably an Irish importation, brought to Wast Anglia by migrant potato-lifters. A brief song, it opens politely and proceeds on a rapid downhill slide into maudlin defiance, resembling a gent with sprigged waistcoast and churchwardens pipe striving to shore up his dignity while the world is slipping out of focus and into a happy haze.

And Martin Carthy and chorus sang Jug of Punch in a much happier tone on Songs from ABC Television's “Hallelujah”.

Lyrics

A.L. Lloyd sings A Jug of Punch	Martin Carthy sings Jug of Punch
As I was sitting with me glass and spoon One summer evening in the month of June; 𝄆 The small birds sat on an ivy bunch And the song they sang was the Jug of Punch. 𝄇	As I was sitting with me jug and spoon On one fine morn in the month of June; A birdie sang on an ivy bunch And the song he sang was the Jug of Punch. Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo, Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo, A birdie sang on an ivy bunch And the song he sang was the Jug of Punch.
What more diversion could a man require Than to settle down by the ale-house fire, 𝄆 With a fine red(?) pippin to crack and crunch, And on the table a jug of punch. 𝄇	What more diversion could a man desire Than to sit him down by a neat turf fire, A Kerry pippin to crack and crunch, Aye, and on the table a jug of punch. Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo, Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo, A Kerry pippin to crack and crunch, Aye, and on the table a jug of punch.
Let the doctors come with all their arts They'll make no impression upon my heart 𝄆 Even the cripple forgets his hunch When he's snug outside of a jug of punch. 𝄇	The learned doctor with all his art Cannot cure the impression that's on the heart. Even the cripple forgets his hunch When he's safe outside of a jug of punch. Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo, Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo, Even the cripple forgets his hunch When he's safe outside of a jug of punch.
If I drink too much, well, me money's me own, And they must don't like it can leave me alone; 𝄆 But I'll tune me fiddle and I'll roisin me bow And I'll be welcome wherever I go. 𝄇
Too-ta-loo-ra lay, too-ra-loo-ra-loo, And if I get drunk well that's none to you 𝄆 With a jug of punch and me jug of punch This song I'm singing is the Jug of Punch. 𝄇
	And when I'm dead and I'm in me grave No costly tombstone will I crave. Just lay me down in me native peat, With a jug of punch at me head and feet. Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo, Too-ta-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo, Just lay me down in me native peat, With a jug of punch at me head and feet.