The Bitter Withy (1912)
There have been many collections of Christmas carols. C. J. Sharp has made another, gathering items direct from
village folk in out-of-the-way corners. A curious- specimen is "The Bitter Withy," founded on the old superstition
of certain "rich young lords" refusing to play with the child Christ because of doubts as to his birth, similar to
those in the "Cherry tree Carol." The divine child and his mother show an openly revengeful spirit:
So he made him a bridge of the beams of the sun,
And over the water crossed he,
leaving the scoffers to drown. And afterwards--
So Mary mild fetched home her child
And laid him across her knee;
With a handful of green withy twigs
She gave him slashes three.
O withy ! O withy ! O bitter withy !
Thou hast caused me to smart;
And the withy shall be the very first tree
That shall perish at the heart!
Which is supposed to account for the early perishing of the withy, or willow.
[Complete Version Below]
As it fell out on a bright holiday
Small hail from the sky did fall;
Our Saviour asked his mother dear
If he might go and play at ball.
"At ball? At ball? My own dear son?
It's time that you were gone;
Don't let me hear of any complaints
At night when you come home."
So up the hill and down the hill
Our sweet young Saviour ran
Until he met three rich lords',
"Good morning to each one."
"Good morn, good morn, good morn," said they,
"Good morning," then said he,
"And which of you three rich young lords
Will play at ball with me?"
"We are all lords' and ladies' sons
Born in a bower and hall,
And you are nothing but a poor maid's child
Born in an ox's stall."
Sweet Jesus turned him round about,
He did neither laugh nor smile,
But the tears came trickling from his eyes
Like water from the sky.
"If you're all lords' and ladies' sons
Born in your bower and hall,
I'll make you believe in your latter end
I'm an angel above you all"
So he made him a bridge of the beams of the sun
And over the water ran he;
The rich young lords chased after him
And drowned they were all three.
So up the hill and down the hill
Three rich young mothers ran
Saying, "Mary mild, fetch home your child
For ours he's drowned each one."
"Oh I've been down in yonder town
Far as the holy well,
I took away three sinful souls
And dipped them deep in hell."
Then Mary mild, she took her child
And laid him across her knee
And with a handful of withy twigs
She gave him slashes three.
"Oh bitter withy, oh bitter withy
You've caused me to smart.
And the withy shall be the very first tree
To perish at the heart."
Notes
From the Wagga NSW Newspaper the Worker Thu 15 Feb 1912, p. 21.It is interesting that the story told by this ancient English carol finds its first Australian publication in the radical press. The song was a favourite of the folklorist A.L. Lloyd and he published it in his 1944 booklet "The Singing Englishman", a book reviewed in the Australian press and sold in Australia.