This very ancient ballad, which was unearthed in a small New Hampshire town a few years ago, as an oddly modern ring to it.
I
God prosper our selectmen three,
Oor liffes and saftyes all!
A joyful mudding once there did
On Ten Rod Road befall.
II
To climbe a hill in Chevy truckes
Came chosen men of might,
Who knew ffull well in time of neede
That Budde wud serve arright.
III
These tidings came to Warden Browne,
In Puddledock he lay,
Who sent the mudders present word,
He'd stop them if he may.
IV
The truckes ran swiftly through the woods
To reach the Whitehouse hill,
The blast of many a knightly horne
Did make an eccho shrill.
V
With mirey tote road steep before,
And Ten Rod Road behind,
The dryvers mustered gallantly,
Payd Warden Browne no mind.
VI
And long before high noone they had
Quaffed down a case of Budde,
Then one by one the dryvers went
To battele with the mudde.
VII
To win the topmost of the hill,
These truckes roared uppe the slope,
Til ooze and slime, 'spite booze sublime,
Defeated eche knight's hope.
VIII
It caused stout hearts great greeve to see
Eche noble Chevy foiled
White cloudes of steam from truckes did ream,
As radiators boiled.
IX
Then knights, at speede, their dames dispatched,
As custome bade they oughter,
Through woodes to trampe 'til buggy swamp,
And fetche back cannes of water.
X
At length came there a Champion,
Whose strove with mickle mighte
And trusty 44 inch tires,
To gain the muddy height
XI
Greate cheers did ring the greenwoode through,
And Buddes were quafféd down
To celebrate the victorie –
When uppe rade Warden Browne.
XII
"Shew me," sayd he, "what men ye bee
That mudde soe boldly here,
And with a scant regard for law
Do quaff yon cannes of bere."
XIII
The first man that did answer make
Was noble Ceejay hee,
Who sayd "Wee wist not to declare,
Nor shew what men wee bee."
XIV
They've mounted in their Chevy truckes,
And shewing little ffeare,
Sped merrilie from Warden Browne,
Ere he could draw his spere.
XV
Forsoothe their plates with dirte were caked,
Thus did they thwarte pursuite,
Unhappilie the warden's car,
Mired down in mudde, to boot.
XVI
Now Browne has ta'en a dreadful oath
He would avenged bee,
On suche as mudding reivers bold,
Under the greenwoode tree.
XVII
Yet God save our selectmen three,
And blesse this land with peace,
And grant hencforth suche rivalrie,
Twixt noble men may cease!