A Field in England (2013) - full transcript

Fleeing for their lives, a small party abandon their Civil War confederates and escape through an overgrown field. Thinking only of what lay behind, they are ambushed by two dangerous men and made to search the field. Psychedelia, madness and chaotic forces slowly overtake the group as they question what treasure lies within the malignant field.

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Whitehead!

Where are you? Whitehead!

I know you're there!
You can't hide from me!

Oh! Please, God!

Don't let him find me.

I can smell you!

Friend?

Hey, friend?

Your name?

Give me your name.

Whitehead!



Where are you, man?

You simpering dwarf!

Don't let him find me.

Whitehead! I know you're there!

Where are you?

Six months, to root out one Irishman!

Six months, Whitehead!

- Rid me of that pompous arse.
- Instead, what do you find? The enemy!

Please hear me.

I care not what the master
might say. No more mummery!

You're finished, scrivener!

- Hey, friend!
- I'll hang you from the nearest tree!

I've got you! There you are, you coward!

This is the place, sir.
I am certain this time.



- He is here!
- Lies!

Astrology cannot be an exact business
if the questions are ill-defined

or the person or individual is sort...

Damn your impudence,
you obsequious little turd!

Oh, my god!

Your privy parts are doomed, homunculus!

Come here.

No, thank you!

Oh!

Bawd's bastard.

Looks like your prayer is answered.

What do you see, friend?

Nothing, perhaps.

Only shadows.

I cannot hear!

Oh!

Please!

Has he passed?

Shame.

Bit soft in the head but good with a pike.

We should pray.

- You got anything to eat?
- No, sir.

Last thing I ate was a stoat.

A Welsh one at that.

Oh, fuck it.

I ain't going back over.

- What about you?
- Oh, my man is dead.

I'm my own man.

There is another I am beholden to,
my master.

There's always others, brother.

No doubt he'll find you.

They usually do.

Especially if they want their boots cleaned
or the boils on their arses burst.

Fuck it.

This wars not been run to my liking.
Too much fucking marching about.

Not enough grub.

I'd give anything for a...
A good stew and a bellyful of beer.

I was stopped a ways into the field
when I hear the commotion.

- You...
- Oh! Oh!

Easy, friend!

- He was with the other lot!
- I am not your enemy, sir!

Easy, now!

I am not a soldier!

- What the fuck are you, then?
- I am a coward, sir!

And what about you?
What dispensation do you claim?

There are no sides here, friend.

Let's stop acting like a bunch of cunts.

And we shall forge an alliance
at the alehouse I passed earlier.

What say you?

Did someone mention ale?

I should go back, suffer the consequences
of my failed mission.

What mission would that be, Mary?
Pegging out the wash?

I am not at liberty to discuss
my master's business.

Perhaps he's right.
Perhaps we should all go back and suffer.

I feel that is what I do best anyway.

Jesus Christ could be here any minute.

We wouldn't want him
to find us running away.

We're not running away.
We're going for beer, right?

Perhaps he is right. Beer has its own way
of sorting things out, does it not?

Forwards is back. 'Tis all the same.

God will find all as easy over
a card table as swinging from a tree.

Allow me.

Sorry.

Sorry.

Got orders to catch this fella once.

Stole a tablecloth.

There was no trees to hang him from,
though, see.

We'd burnt 'em all for firewood.

Difficult business,
hanging a man without a tree.

- You all right?
- I am not a soldier!

I'm not accustomed to this trajectory.

Go fucking back, then. Go on. Piss off.

He must not go back!

Your man said you would hang, did he not?

Can you be certain all
his loyal men are dead

and do not wait to wring your neck
like a wet mop?

You are as good as dead to them
this side of the hedgerow.

Leave it to that, surely, friend.

Well, if God Almighty
shall preserve my life,

I may hereafter add many great things
and much light to my art!

What's he say?

He says the next time his master
sends him on a job he won't fuck it up.

Good, good, good.

Say, I see nothing
but shit and thistles all about.

- Where's this alehouse, exactly?
- Across the field and beyond.

- And you are paying, you say?
- You'll eat first, though.

I have fire, a pot,

and something in it I was working at
before I heard that business at the lane.

If nothing else, it'll fill your stomachs.

So, you'll not go back there?

I am not accustomed to making decisions,

but self-preservation fuels me, I admit.

We shall sample a better quality
of suffering in this man's company,

I feel certain.

We shall stop for but
a short time, though.

I may not be running, but I have
no desire to linger in these parts.

I am only too aware

that the odds are presently
against a man living his full span.

Listen.

They have forgotten you already.

I wish the feeling were mutual.

The skirmish is moving elsewhere.

Fuck 'em, then, for being so flighty.

But surely someone will come after us.

We're only shadows here, remember?

It will not be the first time I have left
a wake of indifference behind me.

Down, down, down now.
Get down.

Get... Get down.

Get down! Down!

Down, down, down.

Stay here. Stay here.

- Where you going?
- Stay here.

I'm not fucking staying here.

I was... I was a cooper at...

I was a cooper
at Wickford in Essex before I joined.

Oh?

Have you ever been at Wickford?

- No. I never have.
- Course you haven't.

Yeah, quite right too.

Yeah. You're a wise sort, you, ain't you?

I could tell by your hands,
all clean and soft and that.

Yeah, yeah.

You think about a thing before
you touch it. Am I right?

Is that not usual?

Not in Essex.

Yeah, recruiters came to the village,

singing a song
about the glory of the battle.

You know?

Course, it isn't anything like that
when you get your hands into...

To the business of fighting, yeah.

Still have that song, though. Yeah, yeah.

Yeah. What about you?

Assistant to a gentleman at Norwich,

an eminent alchemist, physician
and astrologer, amongst other things.

Right.

I was charged with the compilation
of sundry details

for his almanacs and charts,

aid his prominent friends, patrons,
politicians in their decisions,

all of great rank and fortune.

I was often given leave of his library,
which holds many a closely guarded tome,

to educate myself.

My father's poverty
forced me to leave school early,

but the master saw something of a...
Of a student in me.

Oh, an astrologer, you say? Right.

Yes. Yes. The, er, celestial bodies.

Their movements.

Oh?

Prediction. Prophecy. Divination.

They hang above us.

The stars. The planets.

No, I don't... Sorry.

Have you never looked up?

- Sounds badly paid.
- Well, well.

My master says that knowledge
is its own payment.

Yeah, well, the only knowledge I have is
that God controls my fate as he sees fit,

and I try to draw consolation from that,

though I would like to know which of my
many faults he's punishing me for now.

My master says,

"Whilst we live in fear of hell,
we... We have it."

Right.

Here. They're coming back.

- All right? All clear?
- Get up.

Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep

It grieves me sore to hear thee weep

If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad

Thy moaning makes my heart full sad

Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy

Thy father bred me great annoy

Baloo, baloo Baloo, baloo

Baloo, baloo

Lu-li-li-lu

O'er thee I'll keep my lonely watch

Intent thy lightest breath to catch

O, when thou wak'st to see thee smile

And thus my sorrow to beguile
Baloo, my boy...

You strike me as a man of the world.

What line of business you in, squire?

Buttons.

Baloo, my boy
lie still and sleep...

I'm going to have a shit.

It grieves me sore
to hear thee weep...

12 weary months have crept away

Since he, upon thy natal day
left thee and me

To seek afar

A bloody fate in doubtful war...

Baloo, my boy
lie still and sleep...

It grieves me sore
to hear thee weep...

If thou'lt be silent
I'll be glad...

Thy moaning
makes my heart full sad...

I dreamed a dream but yesternight

Thy father slain in foreign fight

He, wounded, stood beside my bed

His blood ran down upon thy head

He spoke no word but looked on me

Bent low and gave a kiss to thee...

Mutton?

Baloo, baloo...

Where?

My darling boy

Thou 'rt now alone
Thy mother's joy

Sounds like hard work.

Is it a boy or a girl?

Fuck off!

Fuck off!

Fuck.

Fuck it!

Fucking nettles.

Yeah. You all right?

You've got shit on you as well.

Help me up.

You never seen a man
have a shit before? Go on, fuck off.

Oh.

Oh...

A merry band, are we not?

Formed merely
by the alchemy of circumstance.

- We would not otherwise associate.
- Many chums, have you, back home?

He has mostly been amongst books.

My balls scream like harpies.

Nevertheless,

'tis indeed a pleasure to find
like-minded company in such remote parts.

- Where am I?
- Monmouthshire.

- That near Essex, is it?
- No.

Don't bother.

He hears the call and puts
one foot in front of the other.

Ain't that so, brother?

My master predicts that impending events
will stagger the monarch and kingdom.

After the alehouse,
I shall stagger southeast.

I believe I have distant relatives
at Gloucester. I might go there.

Perhaps they have a large linen cupboard
in which you could hide.

- No stoat in here, is there?
- None.

We give humble thanks for this,
thy special bounty,

beseeching thee to continue
thy loving kindness unto us,

that our land may yield us her fruits
of increase, divine glory and our comfort.

- Through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.
- Amen.

Long walk, that, Gloucester.

Better done on a full stomach.

- Sell a lot of them, do you?
- What?

Buttons.

Yeah, loads.

- This rabbit?
- No.

Which end of this mysterious
beast do I have, then?

The arse end.

There is nothing like a gnawing hunger
to slow a man's pace.

Or fix a man's resolve.

Eat it, man. You don't have to marry it.

I cannot.

I'm set upon a particular fast.

Give it here, then, Mary.

Bit sour, but passable.

No more marching. No more orders.

Any women at this alehouse?

What?

A pair of English tits
not good enough for you?

'Tis indeed a blessed relief
to have been forgotten.

If I may ask a
favour of you boys...

I will not stand by like some gentleman
while you pull more than your fair share.

Sounds more like an order.

I will take my weight
right along with you.

- What's at the end?
- Hang on, hang on.

Rowan wood.

More important, what of the alehouse?

After.

You know, that's a fine stake you've got there.
I'll give you that.

I don't pull well on an empty pocket.

Every man has his price.

My price ain't buttons.

Take your pick.

Well, I'll be jiggered.

You won't eat?

I do not suffer the same hunger
as our friends.

I believe they would sell any religion
for a jug of beer.

You have an angel about you.
You've been touched for the king's evil.

What was it like to look upon His Majesty?

Curiosity fuels you, then, not food.

Let the King worry on his own magic.

God knows he needs it.

I, however, need yours.

Pull, coward.

- Pull!
- I am!

You fuck!

Take the strain. Dig your heel in!
Dig your heel in!

All right!

Come on! Come on!

One, two, three.

Heave!

One, two, three.

Heave!

Pull!

- He's coming!
- Is that all?

A fucking man?

A cripple perhaps?

Maybe he's uncommonly fat.

I once had to pull
my father-in-law from a bog.

You're in possession of a wife?
I can't believe that possible.

Perhaps, still, there was a misunderstanding,
before I left, concerning a small fire.

He's coming!

Get up, you lazy bastard!

Pull, damn you!

What beautiful colours.

No more pulling!

I have brought assistance.

Oh! Sir! Sir! No, sir!

We should intervene.

That is he.

Who?

O'Neil.

The man I was charged with locating.

Then I am vindicated.

Right.

Get up, you bastard!

Easy now. Easy now.

Hold him tight, boys. Beg pardon.

You men will assist me in his detainment.

Like gossamer.

What is it with you and hands?

News is, Cromwell's men marched north
to meet the Engagers.

I heard he exacted terrible revenge
on the Welsh bastards at Pembroke, sir.

Indeed.

This Irish bastard requires his mirror.

Sorry, sir.

Here?

What's that he holds?

A scrying mirror.

- A what? His what?
- An occult tool.

A means for telling the past,
present, perhaps even the future.

He must have utilised
some diabolical method

to conceal his presence in the field.

That is why he was not visible.

You think he sees what
an arsehole he looks,

standing there like the King himself?

No.

Wasn't sure which one he was at first.
Cowardly type, though.

You should not have any trouble from him.

He was the one
that would not eat mushrooms.

I know which one he is, Cutler.

Come on.

Stand up!

What are you doing? Get up.

I don't feel 'em.

- What?
- My balls.

They've ceased screaming.

That is good, is it not? It means the
nettle's sting has run its course.

Maybe I mislaid 'em
when I was pulling the rope.

Whitehead.

O'Neil.

I have my quarry, sir.

You were expected, sir.

Indeed?

A lot of time has passed since we
shared company. Things have changed.

In the absence
of better-qualified men, sir,

I hereby place you under arrest

for the theft of certain documents
from the private collection of my master.

What the fuck is this?

It's a shovel.

In the presence of Merciful God,
I trust you will now surrender yourself

and return willingly
to Norwich to face your accuser.

How is our master?

Well, I pray.

I believe he still has
you doing a lot of that.

Praying, I mean.

The master is of advanced years,
as you know.

Your outrageous pillage
has greatly aggravated his dropsy.

Move.

What kind of merry band is this?

I'm sure
he would have come himself.

But instead he sends you.

The faithful servant.

Come, walk.

You need no invitation.

This is your country, is it not?

Although I've claimed a small corner
which I'm intent on raping a little.

'Tis only fair that I take something
in return for my countrymen's troubles.

Cutler has you marked as a coward.

It's comforting to know that things
haven't changed greatly in my absence.

'Tis true I hid in a bush
as Mr Trower and his men were set upon.

Trower.

The dunderhead mercenary.
How is he?

Dead.

Then your arrest is academic, is it not?

Unless you will comply freely,
as a Christian man.

It would seem the master
has kept you a veritable virgin

as to the workings of the world.

'Tis true I have been
mostly amongst books.

I find pages easier to turn than people.

Although I confess I have acquired
one new skill in your absence.

Indeed?

Lacemaking.

Only in my spare time, which is limited,

because of my increased duties
in your absence,

but, um, of the highest quality, I'm told.

He has not only kept you a stranger
to the world but to yourself, it seems.

I do not follow.

You will.

Unfortunately, my constitution was not
suited to the master's pious regiment.

I am forced to branch out on me own.

I owe money everywhere.

To so many I lose track.

Perhaps even to God himself.

We shall venture to Continental Europe
when the opportunity arises.

I have had little success
in applying the master's arts,

in looking for anything of great worth.

Which is why I have conjured you.

This place holds a great treasure.

I am certain of it.

I merely require a keener eye
to pinpoint the particular location.

And as much as I detest you personally,
Whitehead,

I acknowledge that your gifts
are stronger in certain areas.

But you are now my divining rod.

I have little of my
master's art in divination.

You are confused, sir.

It is I who am capturing you,
not the other way around.

Do not concern yourself with bravery now,
Whitehead.

.-I-is official.

You are my prisoner.

Now, you will find the
treasure in this field

and they will dig it up

and I will claim it.

I will not assist you
in such an ungodly scheme, sir.

Oh, you will, Whitehead. You will.

The world is turned upside-down,
Whitehead, and so is its pockets.

Yes, make a note of that, Cutler,
for my, memoirs and recollections.

I fear he has passed
all bounds of Christianity.

He dresses well, though.

- You are sick?
- No.

Yeah.

My feet are like lead.

I feel like I walk yet make no progress,

and there's a terrible burning
like the fires of hell upon me.

I have some knowledge of physic. I will
attend you as soon as circumstance allows.

Fuck off.

Say, friend.

Friend!

My business with your man is concluded.

If 'tis all the same, I might bob off now.

I confess I feel peaky.

Could do with a few hours' kip.

Do not address me as "friend",
and do not speak to me directly again.

Otherwise I'll turn you into a frog.

It does not surprise me
that the Devil is an Irishman,

though I thought perhaps a little taller.

Tell me.

I am curious.

How did an idiot like you
come to stay alive so long?

Commanding officer
says I have fresh air between my ears.

Fresh air is good
for a man's constitution, is it not?

You may make a note of that.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

If turnips were watches,
I'd wear one by my side.

- If wishes were horses...
- Take courage.

If turnips were watches,
I'd wear one by my side.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride!

If turnips were watches,
I'd wear one by my side.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride!

What this party lacks
is the civilising influence of women.

(Ring A Ring O' Roses)

He seems like a nice enough fellow.

Why do we chase him like a nag
to the glue pot? No matter!

I like it, whatever it is!

Here! Here!

There? There!

What would you have us do now, Devil?

Shut your buggering mouth.

- Dig!
- You must be thirsty.?

Cutler tells me that
you declined his hospitality,

but you will do me the honour, sir.

You may break me, sir,
but I will not break my oath!

Open up and let the Devil in!

Open up and let the Devil in, my boy!

Open up and let the Devil in!

Well, I have no recollection of consuming
anything of the remotest son.

A man can hold a great deal inside
that he does not comprehend.

I am not familiar with
these symbols, though.

Nor I.

I feel... Suddenly empty.

Then maybe you should
keep your mouth shut

unless something else should rush in
while you're not paying attention,

because you are apparently
nothing more than an envelope.

- I need to consult my documents.
- The master's, you mean!

- Of course, you need to be punished.
- I have located your treasure, sir.

Release me!

Please, I beg.

Do not be ridiculous, Whitehead.

All you've given me is a
place to make a hole.

Nothing more.

So, maybe you should fashion it
one of your pretty lace doilies...

...while we try and find out
what's at the bottom of it.

- What?
- Nothing, Mary.

I think I have worked out
what God is punishing us for.

Everything-

O'Neil!

This man is sick!

He has bewitched me.

Attend him.
But have that hole dug all the faster.

Once I get my wind back, I'm gonna smash
every one of you bastards' teeth.

Up-

Help!

Say, "Ah".

Cough.

Am I bewitched?

No.

Sir, you merely suffer a disease
in the private parts,

occasioned by too much venereal sport.

'Tis all?

Well, I also deduce gout, bloody flux,
apostem of the mouth,

the pissing disease,
St Anthony's fire, iliac passion,

haemorrhoids and palsy brought on by drink.

Then, I'm not going to turn into a frog?

'Tis the one complaint you do not suffer,
besides plague.

Back to work!

All I can do is administer
a poultice to your yard, to soothe.

Thank you.

Baloo, my boy
lie still and sleep...

Thank you.

I am my own man.

I am my own man. I am my own man.

I am my own man.

I am my own man. I am my own man.

I am my own man!

I am my own man.

- Please, God.
- I am my own man!

Save and deliver us, from the hands
of your enemies, abate their pride,

assuage their malice, confound their devices,
that we, being armed with thy defence,

shall be preserved from all perils,
to glorify thee, giver of all victory

through the merit of thy son,
Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

I am my own man! I am my own man.

I am my own man!

I am my own man!

I am my own man. I am my own man.

I am my own man.

I am my own man.

Well, this is a fine hole we've dug here.

- I do bless they give us that.
- You dumb bastard!

Girding your loins?

You are a slave!

- You...
- And I'll be a better slave than you!

If you do not cease,
we may be blasted by an ill planet.

This is what a yard looks like, friend!

Friend?

Friend? Friend?

There, see?

The word sounds good on your lips.

That other fella uses it
like a poking stick, does he not?

What have you done, Cutler?

Can you do something?

I never had so many friends
as I do in this field.

Remember my song.

When you get to the alehouse,

see a way to get a message to my wife.

Anything, friend. Anything.

Tell her...

Tell her I hate her.

Tell her I did bum her fathers barn.

'Twas payment for forcing our marriage.

Tell her I loved her sister.

Who I had.

Many times.

From behind. Like a beautiful...
prize... sow.

If I'd have known that, I would have
paid you more respect, brother.

And...

Yes?

- Hey? Yeah?
- And lo...

...'twas good.

I am the resurrection
and the life, saith the Lord.

He has dug his grave,

but he'll not lay there
until that treasure's out.

Deposit the corpse elsewhere for now.

He shall have a Christian burial.

No one will molest his bones.

He did it to himself.

Down is the only way out for you, Cutler.

Sooner I get back to fucking London,
the fucking better.

A new fucking coat.

Fucking doors that fucking shut!

And citizens that pay
small fucking reckoning to astrology!

I would rather die of the fucking plague
in the fucking fleet

than spend another fucking minute
in the countryside!

I'll deliver that message, friend,
if it's the last thing I do.

Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep

It grieves me sore to hear thee weep

If thou'lt be silent I'll be glad

Thy moaning makes my heart full sad

Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy

Thy father bred me great annoy

Baloo, baloo Baloo, baloo

Baloo, baloo

Lu-li-li-lu

Sir!

Sir!

Sir!

Sir!

Sir!

Sir!

Sir!

Sir!

Sir!

Christ in heaven, Cutler!
Where are they all?

We have it, sir!

We have the treasure!

Can we go to that alehouse first, sir?

There was no alehouse!

It was just a figment of your imagination.

It was just to entice that dimwit drunk
and that grinning idiot.

Was it, sir?

I can have him divining treasure for me
all over this land.

I must capture him before he starts
thinking for himself.

Well, dig, Cutler! Dig!

Come to your master, Whitehead!

Whitehead, show yourself!

I am my own master.

Whitehead!

Whitehead!

You shall have as many books
or lace bobbins as you like!

Show yourself, Whitehead,
you fucking coward!

You cannot escape the field,
Whitehead!

Then I shall become it!

I shall consume all the ill fortune
which you are set to unleash!

I shall chew up all the selfish scheming

and ill intentions that men like you
force upon men like me

and bury it in the stomach of this place!

We are brothers now!

Open up, you stubborn bastard.

Two halves of the same man!

This country is at the edge of something,
Whitehead!

Fuck this.

Sever your conscience from your art
and you will profit!

Get down, you fool.

I have come back to rescue you,
you great dunderhead.

No, friend, it is I who will rescue you.

Look. An angel, mounting guard
over the field's treasure.

Hey.

Whitehead?

Whitehead?

Come, friend. I will protect you
from yourself as best I can.

And, after that, I shall pray
for more legs and arms,

to greater appreciate

the many natural intrigues
and wonders that play out below us.

Arses.

Maybe I shall pen a book on the subject.

We've less than no chance
now they're together.

What say you to this for a title?

A Field In England, or The Myriad
Particulars of the Common Weevil.

Catchy.

There is no gold, sir.

Whitehead's a lying bastard,
just like his man Trower said.

Just like I thought.

Nothing in that hole but
dirt and old bones.

You put your money on the wrong man.

He is more of a charlatan
and a fraud than you.

That is, I mean to say...

I... I mean to say that you...

Open up and let the Devil in.

Open up and let the Devil in.

He's the king of cold-hearted bastards,
I'll give him that.

Could do with more like him in the ranks.

Whitehead?

You all right, brother?

Come.

Not much left. Here!

I have no knowledge of weapons.

It comes alive,
does it not, in your hand?

That's a fine-looking load you got
rammed down there, and no mistake.

- Almighty God!
- Friend!

They are over here, Devil!

Perhaps Almighty God

has charged me
as your personal physician.

I will attend you presently,
if this maniac will hold his tongue!

Attend that!

Do not utter a word, or...

He'll turn you into a weevil.

I will say but one thing.
I have missed you both.

You will die unless
I apply pressure presently.

Perhaps 'tis this bastard's turn
to learn a lesson from me.

He has risen more times
than fucking Lazarus!

Watch carefully as I die,
and take note how I do it!

I should deliver that message to your wife
on the end of my cock!

You chose to associate
with a low sort, Whitehead!

He's injured.
He lies some 70-odd yards or so yonder.

- Is that to say we are still friends?
- No! We're not!

You may still catch
your quarry single-handed.

There, now you're a soldier.

I am no soldier.

Will he find you running away?

He will not, sir.

Not this time.

You think there was...
You think there was treasure in this field?

The treasure is here between us,
is it not, friend?

Huh!

A pretty sentiment.

But you will no doubt starve on your own.

I would like
to have shared that ale with him.

So, he is your better friend now.

You two are as peas in a pod,

and I am but to pick up
the scraps of your affection.

Do not speak.

The message was clear.

Well, I shall prove my worth
as a better friend to you yet.

See if I don't.

Oh. Shit and thistles.

O'er thee I keep my lonely watch,
intent to

catch it. Damn it.

Intent thy lightest breath to catch...

Damn. What is the rest of that song?

The coward is here.

Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep

It grieves me sore to hear thee weep

If thou'lt be silent I'll be glad

Thy moaning makes my heart full sad

Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy

Thy father bred me great annoy

Baloo, baloo

Baloo, baloo Baloo, baloo

Lu-li-li-lu

O'er thee I keep my lonely watch

Intent my lightest breath to catch

O, when thou wak'st to see thee smile

And thus my sorrow to beguile

Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy

Thy father bred me great annoy

Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep

It grieves me sore to hear thee weep

Twelve weary months have crept away

Since he upon thy natal day
left thee and me

To seek afar a bloody fate in doubtful war

Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep

It grieves me sore to hear thee weep

If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad

Thy moaning makes my heart full sad

I dreamed a dream but yesternight

Thy father slain in foreign fight

He, wounded, stood beside my bed

His blood ran down upon thy head

He spoke no word but looked on me

Bent low and gave a kiss to thee

Baloo, baloo, my darling boy

Thou 'rt now alone thy mother's joy