Annotation:Good Morning to Your Night Cap (1)
X:1 T:Good Morning to Your Night Cap [1] M:C| L:1/8 R:Reel S:O'Neill - Dance Music of Ireland: 1001 Gems (1907), No. 710 Z:AK/Fiddler's Companion K:Amin A2 Ac BGGB|cBcd (3e^fg dB|A2 Ac BGGB|cABG (3E^FG D2| A2 Ac BGGB|cBcd (3e^fg dB|A2 Ac BGGB|cABG EA A2|| efec dedB|cBcd eaag|(3e^fg ec dedB|cABG (3E^FG D2| e2 ec dedB|{d}cBcd e^f{a}ge|aged (3e^fg dB|cABG EA A2||
GOOD MORNING TO YOUR NIGHTCAP [1] (Ball Ua Dia Ar Do Biread-Oidce). AKA and see "Coleman's Reel (1)," "Michael Coleman's Reel," "Over the Waves (2)," "Roll Her in the Rushes (2)," "Shifting Gravel," "Wooden Shuttle (The)." Irish, Reel. A Dorian. Standard tuning (fiddle). AB (O'Neill/1850 & 1001): ABB' (O'Neill/Krassen): AABB (Miller & Perron). The tune was recorded by County Sligo fiddler Michael Coleman (1891-1945) in New York in 1927 as part of the set "Farrel Gara's (sic) Medley - Reels." Harry Bradshaw, in his notes to the Coleman reissue recording, labels the tune a 'schottische', although it is always heard rendered as a reel. A variant appears as an untitled reel in Church of Ireland cleric James Goodman's mid-19th century music manuscripts, and another can be found in the c. 1909 music manuscript collection of south Armagh cleric, musician and collector Rev. Luke Donnellan under the title "Woolen/Wooden Shuttle (The)." Goodman (1828-1896) was an uilleann piper, and an Irish speaker who collected locally in County Cork and elsewhere in Munster. He also obtained tunes from manuscripts and printed sources.
The tune's title comes from a song of the same name by Dublin playwright John O'Keefe (1746-1838), who staged several well-known farces during the latter 18th century. It was written for his popular The Poor Soldier (1783, music by William Shield), and goes:
Dear Kathleen, you, no doubt,
Find sleep how very sweet 'tis;
Dogs bark, and cocks have crowed out,
You never dream how late 'tis.
This morning gay, I post away,
To have with you a bit of play,
On two legs rid along, to bid
Good-morrow to your night-cap.
Last night, a little bowsy,
With whiskey, ale and cider,
I asked young Betty Blowsy
To let me sit beside her.
Her anger rose, as sour as sloes,
The little gipsy cocked her nose,
So here I've rid along, to bid
Good-morrow to your night-cap. . . . [from the Universal Songster; or Museum of Mirth, 1834]
