05 May 2020
Luck.
The LINCOLNSHIRE POACHER
When I was bound apprentice in famous Lincolnshire
Full well I served my master for more than seven year
Till I took up with poaching, as you will quickly hear
Oh! 'tis my delight on a shiny night, in the season of the year
As me and my comrades were setting of a snare
'Twas then we seed the gamekeeper - for him we did not care
For we can wrestle and fight, my boys and jump o'er anywhere
Oh! 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year
As me and my companions were setting four or five
And taking up on him again, we caught the hare alive
We caught the hare alive, my boys, and through the woods did steer
Oh! 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year
I threw him on my shoulder and then we trudged home
We took him to a neighbour's house, and sold him for a crown
We sold him for a crown, my boys, but I did not tell you where
Oh! 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year
Bad luck to every magistrate that lives in Lincolnshire
Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare
Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer
Oh! 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year
Anonymous
Labels:
appreciation,
poetry,
poetry rules!,
seasons,
Spring
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment