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Traditional Celtic Music, Scottish Songs & Border Ballads
Scots' musician, songwriter, & balladeer.
Hazel Whyte
Irish' Music
Dublin - Jack Of All
It was once
said to me, and has
been voiced by
many - that the only
difference between the
Scots and the Irish
is that the Scots stopped

My response to my Irish
friends is that we
stopped fighting for
good reason.
After putting OUR king
on THEIR throne, WE
thought WE had won !

Sadly the Scots have now
spent four centuries
wondering what
happened ??

Perhaps NOW is the
time to peacefully right
the wrongs of
the past.
In the words
of Burns, as he
wrote from the heart.

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power,
Chains and slaverie.

Wha would be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a Slave?
Let him turn and flie:

Wha for Scotland's king and law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa',
Let him follow me.

By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us Do - or Die!!

Choose your destiny.

Oh I am a roving sporting blade, they call me Jack of all
I always place my chief delight in courting pretty fair maids
So when in Dublin I arrived to try for a situation
I always heard them say it was the pride of all the Nations

I'm a roving jack of all trades
Of every trade of all trades
And if you wish to know my name
They call me Jack of all trades

On George's Quay I first began and there became a porter
Me and my master soon fell out which cut my acquaintance
In Sackville Street, a pastry cook; In James' Street, a baker
In Cook Street I did coffins make; In Eustace Street, a

In Baggot street I drove a cab and there was well requited
In Francis Street had lodging beds, to entertain all strangers
For Dublin is of high reknown, or I am much mistaken
In Kevin Street, I do declare, sold butter, eggs and bacon

In Golden Lane I sold old shoes:  In Meath Street was a
In Barrack Street I lost my wife. I'm glad I ne'er could find
In Mary's Lane, I've dyed old clothes, of which I've often
In that noted place Exchequer Street, sold mutton ready

In Temple Bar, I dressed old hats;  In Thomas Street, a
In Pill Lane, I sold the plate, in Green Street, an honest
In Plunkett Street I sold cast clothes; in Bride's Alley, a
In Charles Street I had a shop, sold shovel, tongs and poker

In College Green a banker was, and in Smithfield, a drover
In Britain Street, a waiter and in George's Street, a glover
On Ormond Quay I sold old books; in King Street, a nailer
In Townsend Street, a carpenter; and in Ringsend, a sailor

In Cole's Lane, a jobbing butcher;  in Dane Street, a tailor
In Moore Street a chandler and on the Coombe, a weaver
In Church Street, I sold old ropes-  on Redmond's Hill a
In Mary Street, sold 'bacco pipes- in Bishop street a quaker

In Peter Street, I was a quack:  In Greek street, a grainer
On the Harbour, I did carry sacks;  In Werburgh Street, a
In Mud Island, was a dairy boy, where I  became a scooper
In Capel Street, a barber's clerk;  In Abbey Street, a cooper

In Liffey street had furniture with fleas and bugs I sold it
And at the Bank a big placard I often stood to hold it
In New Street I sold hay and straw, and in Spitalfields made
In Fishamble Street was at the grand old trade of

In Summerhill a coachmaker; in Denzille Street a gilder
In Cork Street was a tanner, in Brunswick Street, a builder
In High Street, I sold hosiery; In Patrick Street sold all
So if you wish to know my name, they call me Jack of all