The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

78
He'll take my steed away, sir.
Upon my finger I have a ring,
Its made of finest gold-a,
And, lady, it thy steed shall bring
Out of the pinner's fold-a.
O go with me to my father's hall;
Fair chambers there are three, sir:
And you shall have the best of all,
And I'll your chamberlaine bee, sir.
He mounted himself on his steed so tall,
And her on her dapple gray, sir:
And there they rode to her father's hall,
Fast pricking along the way, sir.
To her father's hall they arrived strait;
'Twas moated round about-a;
She slipped herself within the gate,
And lockt the knight without-a.
Here is a silver penny to spend,
And take it for your pain, sir;
And two of my father's men I'll send
To wait on you back again, sir.
He from his scabbard drew his brand,
And wiped it upon his sleeve-a!
And cursed, he said, be every man,
That will a maid believe-a!
She drew a bodkin from her haire,
And wip'd it upon her gown-a;
And curs'd be every maiden faire,
That will with men lye down-a!
A herb there is, that lowly grows,
And some do call it rue, sir:
The smallest dunghill cock that
Would make a capon of you, sir.