Post by davidmm on Apr 9, 2008 5:24:56 GMT -8
Five and twenty summers old,
A highwayman was he,
Two fine pistols in his belt,
Gold buckles on his knee.
Buxom doxies by the score
And tankards of good ale,
His life it was a merry one -
And merry was his tale!
His leather purse was always full
He never worked a day;
So much living to be done -
And working meant no play.
At night he roamed the darkened paths
A-mounted on Wildfire.
There was no steed as fast or fleet
In this or any shire.
So many travellers in the dark
Would hear the hidden voice
Telling them to raise their hands -
They knew they had no choice.
But yet he was a gentleman,
With manners fit for court,
As victims parted from their gold
Would oftentimes report.
But finally, one fateful night,
Beside the lightning tree,
He robbed the local magistrate -
An error, you'll agree.
As Wildfire sped into the dark
The magistrate called out,
"Your days are short, yon highwayman,
As you will soon find out."
And so a hue and cry was raised
Across the countryside;
They hunted for the highwayman,
They knew he could not hide.
But still he dallied, laughing loud
Despite the wide alarm;
He didn't care, he downed his ale,
A doxy on his arm.
The tavern they surrounded soon
And muskets shone and gleamed
Beneath the ever watchful moon;
The magistrate then screamed,
"Surrender, coward highwayman,
You know you have no chance;
Come out and take your punishment
A rope will help you dance."
He kissed his doxy on her lips
And finished off his drink;
He bade good night to one and all,
The ladies got a wink.
Faithful Wildfire pawed the earth
And next he jumped astride;
He mounted fast in just one leap.
"Now go, Wildfire, let's ride!"
Alas, there were too many now
Though Wildfire battled hard;
Men and muskets everywhere
And every path was barred.
He threw his pistols to the ground,
"You've caught me fair and good."
He looked around from face to face,
"Now let us not shed blood!"
They dragged him from his Wildfire's back.
No honest men and true
Would stand as jury with a judge
As should have been his due.
Five and twenty summers old
A highwayman was he,
They hung him high into the air,
Beside the lightning tree.
A highwayman was he,
Two fine pistols in his belt,
Gold buckles on his knee.
Buxom doxies by the score
And tankards of good ale,
His life it was a merry one -
And merry was his tale!
His leather purse was always full
He never worked a day;
So much living to be done -
And working meant no play.
At night he roamed the darkened paths
A-mounted on Wildfire.
There was no steed as fast or fleet
In this or any shire.
So many travellers in the dark
Would hear the hidden voice
Telling them to raise their hands -
They knew they had no choice.
But yet he was a gentleman,
With manners fit for court,
As victims parted from their gold
Would oftentimes report.
But finally, one fateful night,
Beside the lightning tree,
He robbed the local magistrate -
An error, you'll agree.
As Wildfire sped into the dark
The magistrate called out,
"Your days are short, yon highwayman,
As you will soon find out."
And so a hue and cry was raised
Across the countryside;
They hunted for the highwayman,
They knew he could not hide.
But still he dallied, laughing loud
Despite the wide alarm;
He didn't care, he downed his ale,
A doxy on his arm.
The tavern they surrounded soon
And muskets shone and gleamed
Beneath the ever watchful moon;
The magistrate then screamed,
"Surrender, coward highwayman,
You know you have no chance;
Come out and take your punishment
A rope will help you dance."
He kissed his doxy on her lips
And finished off his drink;
He bade good night to one and all,
The ladies got a wink.
Faithful Wildfire pawed the earth
And next he jumped astride;
He mounted fast in just one leap.
"Now go, Wildfire, let's ride!"
Alas, there were too many now
Though Wildfire battled hard;
Men and muskets everywhere
And every path was barred.
He threw his pistols to the ground,
"You've caught me fair and good."
He looked around from face to face,
"Now let us not shed blood!"
They dragged him from his Wildfire's back.
No honest men and true
Would stand as jury with a judge
As should have been his due.
Five and twenty summers old
A highwayman was he,
They hung him high into the air,
Beside the lightning tree.
