Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/367
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OLD TOWLER.
349
As me and my comàrade Were setting of a snare,'Twas then we spied the gamekeeper— For him we did not care;For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, And jump o'er anywhere—For it's my delight on a shiny night, In the season of the year.
As me and my comàrade Were setting four or five,And taking of 'em up again, We caught the hare alive;We took the hare alive, my boys, And through the woods did steer—Oh! it's my delight on a shiny night, In the season of the year.
We threw him o'er our shoulders, 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! it's my delight on a shiny night, In the season of the year.
Success to every gentleman That lives in Lincolnshire,Success to every honest lad, May he not lack good cheer.And I must be a gamekeeper, And poachers then may fear—For it's my delight on a shiny night, In the season of the year.
Old Towler.
Bright chanticleer proclaims the dawn, And spangles deck the thorn,The lowing herds now quit the lawn, The lark springs from the corn;