The Friar in the Well/The Monk and the Maid

As I lay musing all alone, fa, la, la, la, la
A pretty jeast I thought upon; fa, la, la, la, la
Then listen a while, and I will you tell
Of a fryer that loved a bonny lass well.
fa, la, la, la, la fa, la, la, lang-tre-down-dilly

He came to the maid when she went to bed,
Desiring to have her maidenhead,
But she denyed his desire,
And told him that she feard hell-fire.

“Tush,” quoth the fryer, “thou needst not doubt
If thou wert in hell I could sing thee out”
“Then,” quoth the maid, “thou shalt have thy request.”
The fryer was glad as a fox in his nest.

“But one thing,” quoth she, “I do desire,
Before you have what you require;
Before that you shall do the thing,
An angel of mony thou shalt me bring.”

“Tush,” quoth the fryer, “we shall agree,
No mony shall part my love and me;
Before that I will see thee lack,
I’ll pawn the grey gown from my back.”

The maid bethought her of a while
How she the fryer might beguile;
While he was gone, the truth to tell,
She hung a cloth before the well.

Thee fryer came, as his covenant was,
With money to his bonny lass;
“Good morrow, fair maid!” “Good morrow!” quoth she.
“Here is the mony I promised thee.”

She thankt the man, and she took his mony:
“Now let us go to ‘t,” quoth he, “sweet hony:”
“O stay,” quoth she, “some respite make,
My father comes, he will me take.”

“Alas!” quoth the fryer, “where shall I run,
To hide me till that he be gone?”
“Behinde the cloath run thou,” quoth she,
“And there my father cannot thee see.”

Behind the cloath the fryer crept,
And into the well on the sudden he leapt;
“Alas,” quoth he, “I am in the well!”
“No matter,” quoth she, “if thou wert in hell.

“Thou sayst thou couldst sing me out of hell,
Now prithee sing thy self out of the well:
” The fryer sung with a pittiful sound,
Oh help me out, or I shall be dround!”

“I trow,” quoth she, “your courage is coold.”
Quoth the fryer, “I was never so foold,
I never was served so before.
“Then take heed,” quoth she, “thou comst there no more.”

Quoth he, “For sweet Saint Francis sake
On his disciple some pitty take:”
Quoth she, Saint Francis never taught
His scholars to tempt young maids to naught.”

The fryer did entreat her still
That she should help him out of the well;
She heard him make such pittious moan
She helped him out, and bid him be gone.

Quoth he, “Shall I have my mony again,
Which thou from me hast beforehand tane?”
“Good sir,” said she, “there’s no such matter;
I’ll make you pay for fouling my water.”

The fryer went all along the street,
Droping wet, like a new-washed sheep;
Both old and young commended the maid
That such a witty prank had plaid.

Versione italiana Riccardo Venturi
Mentre me la spassavo da solo, fa, la, la, la, la
Mi venne in mente un bello scherzo, fa, la, la, la, la
Ascoltate un po’ che vi racconto
D’un frate innamorato d’una bella ragazza.
Fa, la, la, la, la Fa, la, la, lang-tre-down-dilly.

Andò dalla ragazza mentre lei andava a letto,
Voleva avere la sua verginità;
Ma lei si negò al suo desiderio
E gli disse che temeva il fuoco dell’inferno.

“Zitta”, disse il frate, “non hai a dubitare;
Se tu andassi all’inferno, ti ci tirerei fuori”
“Allora”, disse la ragazza, “la tua richiesta sarà esaudita.”
E il frate era contento come una volpe nella tana.

“Solo una cosa”, lei disse, “vorrei
Prima che tu abbia quel che chiedi:
Prima che tu faccia questa cosa
Mi devi portare un secchio di soldi.”

“Zitta”, disse il frate, “siamo d’accordo,
I soldi non mi divideranno da te;
Prima di vedere che non sei venuta
Darei in pegno il saio che ho addosso.”

La ragazza ci pensò su un pochetto
Su come potesse imbrogliare il frate;
E, quando lui era via, a dire il vero
Lei stese un panno davanti al pozzo.

Il frate arrivò al convegno amoroso
Con il soldi per la sua bella ragazza;
“Buongiorno, bellezza!”, “Buongiorno!”, lei disse.
“Ecco il denaro che ti avevo promesso.”

Lei lo ringraziò e prese i suoi soldi:
“Ora, su, andiamo, dolcezza”, lui disse;
“Aspetta un po’, fai con calma”, lei disse,
“Ché arriva mio padre e mi vuole con sé.”

“Accidenti!”, disse il frate, “dove devo andare
A nascondermi finché non se ne sarà andato?”
“Vai dietro a quel panno”, lei disse,
“Lì dietro mio padre non ti può vedere.”

Il frate corse dietro a quel panno
E cascò immediatamente nel pozzo;
“Accidenti”, disse, “son cascato nel pozzo!”
“E che importa?”, lei disse; “Se eri all’inferno,

Hai detto che mi ci avresti tirato fuori;
Ora guarda di tirarti fuori dal pozzo!”
Il frate si lamentava da far pena,
“Aiutami a venir fuori, o morrò affogato!”

“Credo”, lei disse, “che tu non abbia coraggio.”
Disse il frate: “Non sono mai stato così scemo,
Mai prima sono stato così ben servito,”
“Allora guarda”, lei disse, “di non tornar mai più qui.”

Lui disse: “Per il buon San Francesco,
Abbi pietà di un suo discepolo!”
Lei disse, “San Francesco non ha mai insegnato
Ai suoi discepoli a tentare le ragazze.”

Il frate continuava a implorarla
Di aiutarlo ad uscir fuori dal pozzo;
Lei lo sentì lamentarsi con tanta pena
Che lo aiutò, e gli disse d’andarsene.

Lui disse, “Posso riavere il denaro
Che hai preso da me prima di tutto questo?”
“Signore,” lei disse, “proprio non c’è verso;
Mi devi pagare per avermi sporcato l’acqua.”

Il frate se ne andò via per la strada
Gocciolante e bagnato come un pulcino;
Giovani e vecchi lodarono la ragazza
Che aveva giocato una beffa tanto ingegnosa.

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 

 “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.”
 
 “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.
 
 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.”
 
 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.
 
 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.”
 
 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.”
 
 “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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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!”

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.”

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.”

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

“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.”

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.