The Friar in the Well / The Parson and the Maid

Oh listen, my lads, and I'll tell you the tale
Of a parson who loved a maiden well.
He came to her while she was in bed
With a fancy to have her maidenhead.

Now there was a friar as I been told
Fancied a girl sixteen years old;
Come begging to her in the middle of the night,
Would he sleep with her till the broad daylight.

Chorus (after each verse):

Till me ay fall lal diddle air o dee

Says she, “I grant you your desire
If it weren't for the fear of Hell's old fire.”
Says he, “Of Hell's old fire please have no doubt;
If you were in I could whistle you out.”

“Oh no,” she says, “for you know very well,
If I do that, I go straight to hell.”
“No, he says, “there is no doubt;
For if you were in hell, I would whistle you out.”

Then says the maid, “You'll have your request.”
And the parson he grinned like a fox in his nest.
“But before that we may do this thing
Some money unto me you must bring!”

“Very well,” says the girl, “you can do this thing:”
You a purse of money must bring.”
So he went running the money to fetch.
She thought on a scheme the friar to catch.

He brought the money, and did it down tell;
She had a sheet spread over the well.
She thanked the parson and took his money,
Says he, “Now let's go do it sweet honey.”

So she got a sheet, you know very well,
She hung it up all in front of the well.
He come back and she led him in
And it's, “Oh dear love, now let us begin.”

But the fair maid cried that her father was come;
“Oho,” says the parson, “where shall I run?”
“Oh you must go behind that screen
And then by my dad you won't be seen.”

Then cries the girl so crafty and cunning,
“think I hear my father a-coming!”
So behind the sheet the friar did trip,
Into the well he went arse over tit.

Behind the screen the parson crept
And into the well of a sudden he lept.
He gave a great screech and a pitiful moan,
“Oh help, oh help, else I'll be drowned!”

And the friar called out with a pitiful sound,
“Help sweetheart or I shall drown.”
She said, “You could whistle me out of hell,
Whistle your own self out of the well.”

“You said you'd whistle me out of hell,
Now whistle your own self out of the well.
And as for your money there's nothing to tell
For you must pay for fouling the well.”

So she hauled him out and she bid him be gone,
But he wanted his money all back again.
“No,” she says, “There is one matter,
You must pay me for you fouled my water.”

Now all who heard commend the maid
For the nimble trick that she had played.
The parson he ran down the street
Shaking his ears like a newly-washed sheep.

“And,” says the friar, “I never was treated so,
And I'll never never come back here no more.”
Off he went on down the street,
Dragging his bum like a new dipped sheep.