The night before Larry was stretched
(Tune: To the hundreds of drury I write)
| TYPE | 3 - Complex Melody |
| TOPIC | Execution |
| TUNE STRUCTURE | A4 B4 |
| VERSE STRUCTURE | 7v 8l |
| TIME SIGNATURE | 94 |
| TONAL CENTRE | A |
| INCIPIT | GEGF♯D♯F♯EF♯GAGF♯ |
| GENRE | Ballad |
| TEXT SOURCE | The Festival of Anacreon (London: George Peacock, c.1790), pp.23-25 |
| TUNE SOURCE | Sir Aston Cokain, Nahum Tate and Robert Drury, The devil of a duke: or, Trapolins' vagaries (London, 1732), Appendix p.6 |
| NOTATED INCIPIT | |
| This is the first printing of this well known song. Although ultimately the version sung today is different and has taken on a new tune, it is clear from the note in the text facsimile ('A favourite Song in all the Convival Societies in Ireland') that this song is considered Irish at the time of printing. | |
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The night before Larry was stretch'dThe night before Larry was stretch'd,The boys they all paid him a visit;And bit in their sacks too they fetch'd,They sweated their duds 'till they Riz it;For Lary was always the lad,When a friend was condemn'd to the squeezer;But he'd fence all the togs that he had,To help a poor friend to a sneezer;And moister his gob 'fore he died.I'm sorry, now Larry, says I,To see you in this situation,'Pon my conscience, my lad, I don't lie,I'd rather it had been my own station;Och hone! its all over, says he,For the neckcloth I'm forc'd for to put on;And by this time to-morrow you'll see,Your Larry will be dead as mutton;Bekays, why, my dear, my courage was good.The boys they came crouding in fast,They drew all their stools round about him;Six glims on his coffin were plac'd,He couldn't be well wak'd without them;I ax'd if he was fit for to die,Without having first duly repented;Says Larry that's all in my eye,Its only what gownmen invented;To get a fat bit for themselves.The cards being call'd for they play'd,'Till Larry found one of them cheated,He made a smart stroke at this head,(The boy being easily heated)Oh! by the holy, you teef,I'll scuttle your nob with my daddle;You cheat me because I'm in grief,But soon I'll demolish your noddle;And leave you your claret to drink.Then in came the priest with his book;He spoke him so smooth and so civil.Larry tipt him a Kilmaiham look,And pitch'd his big wig to the devil.Then stooping a little his headTo get a sweet drop of the bottle,And pitiful sighing he said,Oh the hemp will soon round my throttleAnd choke my poor windpipe to death.So moving these last words he spoke,We all vented our tears in a shower;For my part I thought my heart broke,To see him cut down like a flower:On his travels we watch'd him next day,Oh! the hangman I thought I could kill him;Not one word poor Larry did say,Nor chang'd till he came to King William;The, my dear, his colour turn'd white.When he came up to the nubbing chit,He was tuck'd up so neat and so pretty,The rumbler jogg'd off from his feet,And he died with his face to the city!He kick'd too, - but that was all pride,For soon you might see 'twas all over;Soon after the noose was untied,And at darky we wak'd him in clover,And sent him to take a ground sweat.