| (Daily Growing) Version 1 Play/Download Music File Ron Clarke |
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| This tune is known by many titles. In addition to those above it is also known as Daily Growing and Bonny Boy is Young (But Growing). It first appeared in print in 1792 as Lady Mary Ann. There are numerous versions of both the tune and lyrics. In one set of lyrics the groom is twelve when he marries and a father at 13.
The ballad was printed on numerous broadsides. For copies of some of these see the Bodleian Library. The words may have been based upon the 17th century wedding of Lord Craighton to Elizabeth Innes. She was several years older than he and he died in 1634 shortly after the wedding. Scholars note, however, that the ballad may be older, as child marriages were common in the Middle Ages. |
The trees they grow high, the leaves they do grow green Many is the time my true love I've seen Many an hour I have watched him all alone He's young, but he's daily growing Father, dear father, you've done me great wrong You have married me to a boy who is too young I'm twice twelve and he is but fourteen He's young, but he's daily growing Daughter, dear daughter, I've done you no wrong I have married you to a great lord's son He'll be a man for you when I am dead and gone He's young, but he's daily growing Father, dear father, if you see fit We'll send him to college for another year yet I'll tie blue ribbons all around his head To let the maidens know that he's married One day I was looking o'er my father's castle wall I spied all the boys aplaying at the ball My own true love was the flower of them all He's young, but he's daily growing And so early in the morning at the dawning of the day They went out into the hayfield to have some sport and play; And what they did there, she never would declare But she never more complained of his growing. At the age of fourteen, he was a married man At the age of fifteen, the father of a son At the age of sixteen, his grave it was green Have gone, to be wasted in battle. And death had put an end to his growing I'll buy my love some flannel and I will make a shroud With every stitch I put in it, the tears they will pour down With every stitch I put in it, how the tears will flow Cruel fate has put an end to his growing |
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