The Three Ravens : The Wraggle-Taggle Gypsies

15/12/13 20:56The Three Ravens / The Wraggle-Taggle Gypsies

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CD 3: The Three Ravens / The Wraggle-Taggle GypsiesNOTES • TRACKING • HOME

The Three RavensThere were three ra'ens sat on a tree, Down a down, hey down, hey down,They were as black as black might be, With a down. The one of them said to his mate, Where shall we our breakfast take?With a down, derry, derry, derry down, downDown in yonder green field, Down, a down, hey down, hey down, There lies a knight slain 'neath his shield, With a down. His hounds they lie down at his feet, So well they do their master keep, With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down.His hawks they fly so eagerly, Down a down, hey down, hey down,No other fowl dare come him night, With a down. Down there comes a fallow doe As great with young as might she go With a down, derry, derry, derry down, downShe lifted up his bloody head, Down a down, hey down, hey down,And kissed his wounds that were so red, With a down. She got him up upon her back, And carried him to earthen lake, With a down, derry, derry, derry down, downShe buried him before the prime Down a down, hey down, hey down,She was dead herself ere e'en-song time, With a down. God send every gentleman, Such hawks, such hounds, and such a leman. With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down The CuckooOh the cuckoo she'a pretty birdShe wobbles as she fliesShe don't never holler cuckoo

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'Til the fourth day of JulyGonna build me log cabinOn the mountain so highSo that I can see WillieAs he goes on byJack of Diamonds, Jack of DiamondsI know you of oldYou done robbed my poor pocketsOf my silver and goldI've played cards in EnglandI've played cards in SpainI bet you ten dollarsI'll beat you againOh the cuckoo she'a pretty birdShe wobbles as she fliesShe don't never holler cuckoo'Til the fourth day of JulyA more traditional version of the song is: The cuckoo she's a pretty birdShe sings as she fliesShe brings us glad tidingsAnd tells us no liesShe sucks all sweet flowersTo make her voice clearShe never sings cuckooTill summer is nearShe flies the hills overShe flies the world aboutShe flies back to the mountainShe mourns for her loveThe cuckoo she's a pretty birdShe sings as she fliesShe brings us glad tidingsAnd tells us no lies How Should I Your True Love KnowHow should I your true love know From the other one ?By his cockle hat and staffAnd his sandal shoon.He is dead and gone, Lady,He is dead and gone.At his heels the grass-green turfAt his head a stone.How should I your true love knowFrom the other one ?By his cockle hat and staffAnd his sandal shoon. Sweet Nightingale



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My sweetheart come along, don't you hear the sweet songOf the beautiful nightingale flowYou will hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingaleAs she sings in the valley belowAs she sings in the valley belowPray leave me alone, I have hands of my ownAnd along with you I'll not goFor to hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingaleAs she sings in the valley below….Pretty Polly, don't fail, and I'll carry your pailStraight home to your cottage we'll goWe will hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingaleAs she sings in the valley below….Pray sit yourself down with me on the groundOn the banks where the primroses growYou will hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingaleAs she sings in the valley below….Down in yonder grove there is an alcoveAnd violets around it do springJust by in a bush there sits a song thrush'Twill charm you to hear how she sings….Why hark, my love, hark, why yonder's a larkShe warbles and pleases me soThat the beautiful tale of the sweet nightingaleWill never entice me to go….The two lovers agreed to be married with speedAnd straight to the church they did goNow no more she's afraid to go down in the shadeOr to walk in the valley below…. I Will Give My Love an AppleI will give my love an apple without e'er a coreI will give my love a house without e'er a door,I will give my love a palace wherein she may be,But she may unlock it without any key.My head is the apple without e'er a core,My mind is the house without e'er a door.My heart is the palace wherein she may beAnd she may unlock it without e'er a key. The Oak and the AshA North Country maid up to London had strayed,Although with her nature it did not agree.She wept and she sighed, and so bitterly she cried,"How I wish once again in the North I could be!Oh the oak and the ash, and the bonny ivy tree,They flourish at home in my own country."While sadly I roam I regret my dear home,Where lads and young lasses are making the hay.



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The merry bells ring and the birds sweetly sing,The meadows are pleasant and maidens are gay.Oh the oak and the ash, and the bonny ivy tree,They flourish at home in my own country."No doubt, did I please, I could marry with ease,For where maidens are fair many lovers will come,But the one whom I wed must be North Country bred,And tarry with me in my North Country home.Oh the oak and the ash, and the bonny ivy tree,They flourish at home in my own country." King HenryLet never a man a-wooing wend that lacketh thing's o' three: A store of gold, an open heart, and full of charity And this was said of King Henry, as he lay quite alone For he's taken him to a haunted hall, seven miles from the townO, he has driven him deer before, the doe down by the glen 'til the fattest buck in all the flock, King Henry he has slain His huntsmen followed him to the hall, to make them burly cheer When loud the wind was heard to howl, and an earthquake rocked the floorAs darkness covered all the hall where they sat at their meat The greyhounds, yowling, left their food and crept to Henry's feet And louder howled the rising wind that burst the fastened door And in there came a grisly ghost, stamping across the floor!Her head hit the rooftop of the house, her middle you could not span Each frightened huntsman fled the hall, and left the king alone Her teeth were like the tether-stakes, her nose like club or mell And nothing less she seemed to be than a fiend that comes from hell!Some meat, some meat, you King Henry, some meat you bring to meGo kill your horse, you King Henry, and bring some meat to me! He has slain his berry-brown steed, it made his heart full sore For she's eaten it up, both skin and bone, left nothing but hide and hair!More meat, more meat, you King Henry, more meat you bring to me Go kill your greyhounds, King Henry, and bring some meat to me!He has slain his good greyhounds, it made his heart full soreFor she's eaten them up, both skin and bone, left nothing but hide and hair!More meat, more meat, you King Henry, more meat you bring to meGo kill your goshawks, King Henry, and bring some meat to me!He has slain his good goshawks, it made his heart full sore For she's eaten them up, both skin and bone, left nothing but feathers bare!A drink, a drink, you King Henry, a drink you bring to meSew up your horse hide, King Henry, and bring some drink to me! He has sewn the bloody hide, a pipe of wine put in And she's drank it down all in one drop, left never a drop therein!A bed, a bed, you King Henry, a bed you'll make for me! Oh you must pull the heather green, and make it soft for me! He has pulled the heather green, and made for her a bed And taken has he his good mantle, and over it he has spread.Take off your clothes, now King Henry, and lay down by my side!O, swear, O, swear, you King Henry, to take me as your bride!



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God forbid, said King Henry, that ever the like betide; That ever a fiend that comes from hell should stretch down by my side!The dark has gone, the day is come, the sunlight fills the hall The fairest Lady that ever was seen lay twixt him and the wall! I've laid for many a gentle knight that gave me such a thrill. But never before with a perfect knight, that gave me all my will! Coventry CarolLullay, Thou little tiny Child,By, by, lully, lullay.Lullay, Thou little tiny Child.By, by, lully, lullay.O sisters, too, how may we do,For to preserve this day;This poor Youngling for whom we sing,By, by, lully, lullay.Herod the King, in his raging,Charged he hath this day;His men of might, in his own sight,All children young, to slay.Then woe is me, poor Child, for Thee,And ever mourn and say;For Thy parting, nor say nor sing,By, by, lully, lullay. Barbara AllenIn Scarlet town where I was bornThere was a fair maid dwellingAnd every youth cried well awayFor her name was Barbara Allen.Twas in the merry month of MayThe green buds were a swellingSweet William on his deathbed layFor the love of Barbara Allen.He sent a servant unto herTo the place she was dwellingSaying you must come to his deathbed nowIf your name be Barbara Allen.Slowly slowly she got upSlowly slowly she came nigh himAnd the only words to him she saidYoung man I think you're dying.As she was walking oer the fieldsShe heard the death bell knellingAnd every stroke it seemed to sayHardhearted Barbara Allen.Oh mother mother make my bedMake it long and make it narrowSweet William died for me today



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I'll die for him tomorrow.They buried her in the old churchyardThey buried him in the choirAnd from his grave grew a red red roseFrom her grave a green briar.They grew and grew to the steeple topTill they could grow no higherAnd there they twined in a true love's knotRed rose around green briar.

Heigh Ho, the Wind and the Rain ("Twelfth Night")When that I was a little tiny boyWith a heigh-ho, the wind and the rainA foolish thing was but a toyFor the rain it raineth ev'ry day.[Chorus] With a heigh-ho, the wind and the rainFor the rain it raineth ev'ry day.But when I came to man's estateWith a heigh-ho, the wind and the rain'Gainst thieves and knaves men shut their gate,For the rain it raineth ev'ry day.But when I came, alas!, to wiveWith a heigh-ho, the wind and the rainBy swaggering never could I thrive,For the rain it raineth ev'ry day.A great while ago the world begunWith a heigh-ho, the wind and the rainBut that's all one, our play is doneAnd we'll strive to please you every day.[Note: Sung in the epilogue of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Tune contemporaneous with words; ca. 1550] Waly, WalyThe water is wide, I cannot get o'erAnd neither have I wings to fly.O go and get me some little boat,To carry o'er my true love and I.A-down in the meadows the other dayA-gath'ring flow'rs both fine and gayA-gath'ring flowers, both red and blue,I little thought what love could do.I put my hand into one soft bush,Thinking the sweetest flow'r to find.I prick'd my finger to the boneAnd left the sweetest flow'r alone.I lean'd my back up against some oak,Thinking it was a trusty tree.But first he bended then he broke,So did my love prove false to me.Where love is planted, O there it grows,



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It buds and blossoms like some rose;It has a sweet and pleasant smell,No flow'r on earth can it excel.Must I be bound, O and she go free!Must I love one thing that does not love me!Why should I act such a childish part,And love a girl that will break my heart.There is a ship sailing on the sea,She's loaded deep as deep can be,But not so deep as in love I am;I care not if I sink or swim.O love is handsome and love is fine,And love is charming when it is true;As it grows older it groweth colderAnd fades away like the morning dew. Down in Yon ForestDown in yon forest theres stands a hallThe bells of paradise I heard them ringIt's covered all over with purple and pallAnd I love my Lord Jesus above anything.In that hall there stands a bedThe bells of paradise I heard them ringIt's covered all over with scarlet so redAnd I love my Lord Jesus above anything.At the bed side there lies a stoneThe bells of paradise I heard them ringWhich the sweet virgin Mary knelt uponAnd I love my Lord Jesus above anything.Under that bed there runs a floodThe bells of paradise I heard them ringThe one half runs water, and other runs bloodAnd I love my Lord Jesus above anything.At the bed's foot there grows a thornThe bells of paradise I heard them ringWhichever blows blossoms since He was bornAnd I love my Lord Jesus above anything.Over that bed the moon shines brightThe bells of paradise I heard them ringDenoting our Saviour was born this nightAnd I love my Lord Jesus above everything.

Matthew, Mark, Luke and JohnMatthew, Mark, Luke, and John,Bless the bed that I lie onFour corners to my bed,Four angels round my head;One to watch, and one to pray,And two to bear my soul away



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Matthew, Mark, Luke and JohnGuard the bed that I lie on:Four corners to my bedFour angels round my head,One to watch and one to prayAnd two to bear my soul away. The Tailor and the MouseThere was a tailor had a mouse, Hi diddle um come feed-a,They lived together in one house, Hi diddle um come feed-a

Hi diddle um, come tintrum tantrum through the town of Ramsey, Hi diddle um, come over the lea hi diddle um come feed-a.The tailor thought the mouse was ill, Hi diddle um… He gave him part of a blue pill, Hi diddle um…Hi diddle um, come tintrum tantrum…

The tailor thought his mouse would die, Hi diddle um… He baked him in an apple pie, Hi diddle um…Hi diddle um, come tintrum tantrum…

The pie was cut. the mouse ran out, Hi diddle um… The tailor followed him all about, Hi diddle um…Hi diddle um, come tintrum tantrum…

The tailor found his mouse was dead, Hi diddle um… So he…Bought another one in his stead, Hi diddle um…Hi diddle um, come tintrum tantrum…

The tailor chased him over the lea, Hi diddle um… The last of that mouse he never did see, Hi diddle um…Hi diddle um, come tintrum tantrum…

The Old Year Now Away Is Fled ("Greensleeves")The old year now away is fled, The new year it is entered;Then let us now our sins down tread, And joyfully all appear. Lets merry be this day, And let us now go sport and play, Hang grief, cast care away, God send you a happy new year.The name-day now of Christ we keep,Who for our sins did often weep;His hands and feet were wounded deep,And his blessed side with a spear;His head they crown'd with thorn,And at him they did laugh and scorn,Who for our good was born:God send us a happy New Year!And now with New Year's gifts each friendUnto each other they do send;



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God grant we may our lives amend,And that the truth may appear!Now, like the snake your skinCast off, of evil thoughts and sin,And so the year begin:God send us a happy New Year! The Wraggle Taggle GypsiesThree gypsies stood at the Castle gate; they sang so high, they sang so low. The lady sat in her chamber late; her heart it melted away as snow.They sang so sweet, they sang so shrill, that fast her tears began to flow. And she laid down her silken gown, her golden rings and all her show.She plucked off her high-heeled shoes, a-made of Spanish leather, O. She would in the street with her bare, bare feet all out in the wind and weather O.O saddle to me my milk-white steed, and go and fetch me my pony, O! That I may ride and seek my bride, who is gone with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!O, he rode high and he rode low, he rode through wood and copses too, until he came to an open field, and there he spied his a-lady, O!What makes you leave your house and land, your golden-treasures for to go? What makes you leave your new-wedded lord, to follow the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!What care I for my house and my land? What care I for my treasures, O! What care I for my new-wedded lord? I'm off with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!Last night you slept on a goose-feather bed, with the sheet turned down so bravely, O! And tonight you'll sleep in a cold open field, along with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!What care I for a goose-feather bed, with the sheet turned down so bravely, O! For tonight I shall sleep in a cold open field, along with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O! Lord RendallWhere have you been all the day, Rendall, my son? Where have you been all the day, my pretty one? I've been to my sweetheart, mother; make my bed soon,for I'm sick to my heart, and I fain would lie down.



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What have you been eating, Rendall, my son? What have you been eating, my pretty one? O eels and eel broth, mother; make my bed soon …Where did she get them from, Rendall, my son? Where did she get them from, my pretty one? From hedges and ditches, mother; make my bed soon…What was the colour on their skin, Rendall, my son? What was the colour on their skin, my pretty one? O spicket and sparkit, mother; make my bed soon …What will you leave your father, Rendall, my son? What will you leave your father, my pretty one? My land and houses, mother; make my bed soon …What will you leave your mother, Rendall, my son? What will you leave your mother, my pretty one? My gold and silver, mother; make my bed soon …What will you leave your brother, Rendall, my son? What will you leave your brother, my pretty one? My cows and horses, mother; make my bed soon …What will you leave your lover, Rendall my son? What will you leave your lover, my pretty one? A rope to hang her, mother; make my bed soon … Sweet JaneFarewell, sweet Jane, I now must go,across the roaming sea. My trunk is packed, on Johnson's bar I embark, with all my company.She wet my cheeks with falling tears, while I did kiss her hand. O think of me, sweet willadear, while in some foreign land.Three years, three years, I labored hard, at digging up my wealth; although I lived on salty lard, I never lost my health.I loaded up my trunk with gold, and then I thought of Jane; and next I thought of homeward bound, as I re-crossed the main.I saw a crowd of lovely girls, come marching to the ship; I saw sweet Jane and all her curls, and I began to skip.They marched up the marble street, right to her father's door; they looked so nice and young and gay, while standing on the floor.The parson read the marriage law, that tied us two together,



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and Jane is now my loving wife, my wife now and forever. The Frog and the MouseThere was a frog lived in a well. (Whipsee diddledee dandy dee.) There was a mouse lived in a mill. (Whipsee diddledee dandy dee.) This frog he would a-wooing ride, with sword and buckler by his side. (With a harum, scarum diddledum darum, Whipsee diddledee dandy dee.)He rode till he came to Mouse's Hall, where he most tenderly did call: O Mistress mouse, are you at home? And if you are, oh pray come down.My Uncle Rat is not at home; I dare not for my life come down. Then Uncle Rat he soon comes home: And who's been here since I've been gone?He's been a fine young gentleman, who swears hell have me if he can. And Uncle Rat gave his consent, and made a handsome settlement.Four partridge pies with season made, two potted larks and marmalade, four woodcocks and a venison pie. I would that at that feast were I! The Seeds of LoveI sowed the seeds of love, I sowed them in the spring; I gathered them up in the morning so soon, while small birds did sweetly sing.My garden was planted well with flowers everywhere, but I had not the liberty then for to choose the flower I loved dear.The gardener standing by, I asked to choose for me; he chose me the Violet, the Lily and the Pink, but these I refused all three.The Violet I did not like because it fades so soon; the Lily and the Pink I then did overthink and vowed I'd stay till June.In June is a red red Rose, and that is the flower for me; I'll pluck it and think that no Lily nor Pink can match with the bud on that tree.



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The gardener standing by, he bid me take great care; for that under the blossom and under the leaves is a thorn that will wound and tear.Of Hyssop I'll take a spray, no other flowers I'll touch; that all in the world may both see and may say that I loved one flower too much. Flowers in the ValleyO there was a woman, and she was a widow (fair are the flowers in the valley); with a daughter as fair as a fresh sunny meadow (the Red, the Green, and the Yellow, the Harp, the Lute, the Pipe, the Flute, the Cymbal, sweet goes the treble violin). The maid so rare and the flowers so fair, together they grew in the valley.There came a Knight, all clothed in red. "I would thou wert my bride," he said. "I would," she sighed, "ne'er wins a bride!" Fair are the flowers in the valley.There came a Knight, all clothed in green. "This maid so sweet might be my queen." "Might be," sighed she, "will ne'er win me!" Fair are the flowers in the valley.There came a Knight, in yellow was he. "My bride, my queen, thou must with me!" With blushes red, "I come," she said, "Farewell to the flowers in the valley." Near London TownNear London town there grows a flower, the fairest to be seen. It groweth by a pleasant bower, near by a pleasant green. This lovely flower, this lovely flower, it smells so sweet and rare. The fragrance of it is perfect to drive away dull care.Now oftentimes have I desired that flower for my parterre. But round it groweth many a thorn. Who draweth near, beware! But if I could, O then I would tear all those briars away: I'd keep it from the nipping frost, from the scorching day.Did e'er you see the lily white? Did e'er you see the rose?



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The violet or the pansy bright? Sure, she is none of those. The auricula and tulip too, so glorious to behold, the cowslip and the bell of blue, and eke the marigold.Alas for every flower fair! The wintry winds will blow, the biting frost will chill the air, and bury all in snow. And my fair flower will fade away, her bed a grave will prove, for all things have but little stay, those least that most we love. O Who's Going to Shoe Your Pretty Little FootO who's going to shoe your pretty little foot? O who's going to glove your hand? O who's going to kiss your red rosy cheeks when I'm in that far-off land?The pretty little birds did choose sad notes and they sang a roundelay;they sang a sad little goodbye song, because they knew I was going away.O when my eyes are smiling, my heart is full of pain, because I know when they put me in that cold, cold ground, I'll never see you again. Blow Away the Morning DewUpon the sweetest summer time, in the middle of the morn, a pretty damsel I espied, the fairest ever born. (And sing blow away the morning dew, the dew and the dew, blow away the morning dew, how sweet the winds do blow).She gathered to her lovely flowers, and spent her time in sport, as if in pretty Cupid's bowers she daily did resort.The yellow cowslip by the brim, the daffodil as well, the timid primrose, pale and trim, the pretty snowdrop bell.And ever, ever, as she did those pleasant flowers pull, she rais'd herself and fetched a sight and wished her apron full.



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Then did I offer her to pluck of every flower that grew; no herb nor flower then I missed but only bitter rue.Both she and I did bow in pain to gather quite a store, until the modest maiden said, "Kind sir, I'll have no more."Yet still did I with willing heart essay some more to pull. "No thank you sir," she said, "We part, because my apron's full."She's gone with all those flowers sweet, of white, of red, and blue, and unto me about my feet is only left the rue. Searching for lambsAs I went out one May morning, one May morning betime, I met a maid, from home had strayed, just as the sun did shine. What makes you rise so soon my dear, your journey to pursue? Your pretty little feet, they tread so sweet, strike off the morning dew.I'm going to feed my father's flock, his young and tender lambs, that over hills and over dales lie waiting for their dams. O stay! O stay! you handsome maid, and rest a moment here, for there is none but you alone that I do love so dear.How gloriously the sun doth shine, how pleasant is the air, I'd rather rest on a true-love's breast, than any other where. For I am thine and thou art mine; no man shall uncomfort thee; we'll join our hands in wedded bands and a-married we will be. Sweet EnglandAs I was a-walking one morning in spring, to hear the larks whistle, the colley birds sing, I heard a fair maiden a-making her moan: O alas! I'm a stranger away from my home.O where is your country I gladly would know, and what mean the tears that so freely do flow?



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What made you to wander so far from your home, and causes lament in a strange land alone?I came from sweet England with mother and dad; they thought in America all might be had, of gold and of silver and acres galore, and never need hunger in poverty more.But alas, for sweet England! my father is dead; my mother could earn but a dollar for bread. And alack! the white wings of the ships as they fly across the blue sea, and leave me here to die!Now mother is dead, I am left all alone; if I were in England, no more would I roam. I've an aunt who is grey, and she loves me amain, O, will not some ship take me homeward again?She has got a neat cottage, a rose at her door; her pans and her dishes I'd scrub, and her floor. I'd kiss her old cheeks and I'd nurse her in pain, and thank God I was back in sweet England again. Dabbling in the DewO where are you going to, my pretty little dear, with your red rosy cheeks and your coal-black hair. I'm going a-milking, kind sir, she answered me. And it's dabbling in the dew makes the milkmaids fair.Suppose I were to clothe you, my pretty little dear, in a green silken gown and the amethyst rare? O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me, For it's dabbling in the dew …Suppose I were to carry you, my pretty little dear,in a chariot with horses, a gay gallant pair. O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me, For it's dabbling in the dew …Suppose I were to feast you, my pretty little dear, with dainties on silver, the whole of the year? O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me. For it's dabbling in the dew …Oh, but London's a city, my pretty little dear, and all men are gallant and brave that are there. O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me.For it's dabbling in the dew makes the milkmaids fair.Oh fine clothes and dainties and carriages so rare, bring grey to the cheeks and silver to the hair. What's a ring on the finger, if rings are round the eye?But it's dabbling in the dew … Strawberry FairAs I was going to Strawberry Fair (singing, singing, buttercups and daisies), I met a maiden taking her ware.



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(Fol-de-dee!) Her eyes were blue and golden her hair, as she went on to Strawberry Fair. (Ri fol, Ri fol, Tol-de-riddle-li-do, Ri fol, Ri fol, Tol-de-riddle-dee)."Kind sir, pray pick of my basket," she said. "My cherries ripe, or my roses red; my strawberries sweet, I can of them spare, as I go on to Strawberry Fair.""Your cherries soon will be wasted away; your roses wither and never stay. 'Tis not to seek such perishing ware, that I am tramping to Strawberry Fair."I want to purchase a generous heart,a tongue that is neither nimble nor tart, an honest mind, but such trifles are rare; I doubt if they're found at Strawberry Fair."The price I offer, my sweet pretty maid, a ring of gold on your finger displayed; so come make over to me your ware, in church today at Strawberry Fair." Just as the Tide Was a-FlowingOne morning in the month of May, when all the birds were singing, and every bush and every tree with merry notes were ringing, I saw a lovely lady stray across the mead with daisies gay, and softly sang a roundelay, just as the tide was a-flowing.And this the burden of her song, as through the wet grass straying: "Alack, a sailor travels longfrom home, his king obeying: a sailor's wife at home must bide." She halted, heavily she sighed, "He parted from me - me a bride, just as the tide was a-flowing.""The tide comes in, the tide goes out, twice every day returning, and hope and sorrow, turn about, oppress my spirit yearning.A hope deferred makes sick the heart; my bosom ever feels a smart. O when shall we two never part? Just as the tide was a-flowing."Then lo! a boat towards her came; a sailor hard was rowing. The sun arose in sheets of flame, and all the east was glowing.



"My husband! husband! back from sea!" She cried, "He comes, he comes to me!" and tears and pain together flee, just as the tide was a-flowing.

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The Three Ravens : The Wraggle-Taggle Gypsies