Graham Irwin - Jolly Joe The Collier's Son - with lyrics in the description

Graham Irwin sings Jolly Joe The Collier's Son, accompanied on electro-acoustic guitar.
This song was popular at the beginning of the 20th century. It appears to have originated in south-west England, although several versions have been adapted to other parts of the country where there were coal mines.
This version was collected in Birmingham in 1906. There are a few recorded versions, mostly with different tunes. I learned the song from Chris Foster when he was a resident at Dingles Folk Club in London.
A story of a young man who catches his love with another man. He picks a fight with her suitor, and in order to stop the fight she agrees to marry him, resulting in misfortune for all involved. I can't help thinking that the young maidens would have more sympathy with the "downfall" of Rachel than with that of Joe and Jack.
LYRICS:
Come all you colliers in this town that loves in a bonny lass
That loves to drink good ale that's brown and sparkles in the glass
I am poor Joe the collier's son, from Holberry town I came
I courted lasses many a one and I loved them all the same.
I courted Nancy, and young Kate, and buxom Nelly too
But Rachel's the girl I do adore and that you soon shall know
My parents they do frown on me saying I am much to blame
For keeping Rachel's company, 'twill bring me to grief and shame.
I took my walk from Holberry town, all round by the Bilsom hill
When who should I spy but my own true love with Jack of Ambers Mill
I hid myself all in the grove a distance from where they were
He gave her kisses, one, two, three, not knowing that I was there.
I boldly stepped up to him, saying, Thou rogue what hast thou done
I'm Jolly Joe the Collier's son, thou shall either fight or run
My finger they began to itch; I scarcely could hold them still
And presently I began to thump poor Jack of Ambers Mill.
Hold your hand, dear Joe, she said, No more of that I'll have
I'll be your servant, slave and wife till we both go to the grave
Then to the church poor Rachel went, right sore against her will
So maidens pity my downfall and Jack's of Ambers Mill.