The Poacher's Fate

Come all ye lads of high renown
Who love to drink strong ale that's brown
And pull the lofty pheasant down
With powder, shot and gun.

I and five more a-poaching went
To get some game was our intent
Our money being gone and spent
We'd nothing else to try.

The moon shone bright, not a cloud in sight
The keeper heard us fire the gun
And quickly to the spot he run
And swore before the rising sun,
That one of us should die.

The bravest lad in all the lot
'Twas his misfortune to be shot
Mis memory ne'er shall be forgot
Until the judgment day.

For help he cried, but it was denied
Deep was the wound the keeper gave
No mortal man his life could save
He now lies sleeping in the grave
Until the judgment day.

From Song Catcher in the Southern Mountains, Scarborough
Collected from Genevieve Ingersoll
DT #351
Laws L14
RG
oct96