written by Pete Coe
From Mobberley on a bright Morning,
On a snow-white pure-bred mare,
A farmer rode to Macclesfield
To sell her at the fair.
Over Alderley Edge he took his path
Where the day is endless night,
The farmer stopped in a shroud of mist
For a man all dressed in white.
From Macclesfield to Mobberley
If you have wares to sell,
Don't leave the path at the Wizard's Inn
Or drink at the Wizard's well.
"Well met!" said the man as he stood in the path,
"Won't you sell to me your mare?"
The farmer said "She's not for sale
'til I get to Macclesfield fair."
"Well you can stay all day at the fare,
No bidding you will hear.
I'll await your return to this very same place
As the evening it draws near."
From Macclesfield to Mobberley
If you have wares to sell,
Don't leave the path at the Wizard's Inn
Or drink at the Wizard's well.
The farmer he was a puzzled man,
As he rode into Macclesfield town,
For admiring glances all that day
Would never fill his purse with crowns.
So he returned a bitted man,
As the sun fell in the sky,
And just as he said that morn,
The wizard did draw nigh.
From Macclesfield to Mobberley
If you have wares to sell,
Don't leave the path at the Wizard's Inn
Or drink at the Wizard's well.
"Now you must sell to me your mare
For silver and bright gold."
And he led the farmer and his mare
Down a passdage dark and cold.
He led them through some iron gates
And to a great rock wall.
Like moles they went, nigh double-bent
'til they came to the sleeper's hall.
From Macclesfield to Mobberley
If you have wares to sell,
Don't leave the path at the Wizard's Inn
Or drink at the Wizard's well.
With fear this farmer wide did gaze
And loudly did he moan,
For full dressed knights each with a mount,
Except for one alone.
"These are King Arthur's gallant men,
Who await on England's need.
So fill your purse and leave your mare
And leave the edge with speed."
From Macclesfield to Mobberley
If you have wares to sell,
Don't leave the path at the Wizard's Inn
Or drink at the Wizard's well.
This farmer returned a very rich man,
Though his story caused him pain.
For those who would search for the iron gates
Did search the Edge in vain.
But some do say that old Nell Beck
Did find the iron gate
And some do say she stricken was
With the March Hare as her mate.
From Macclesfield to Mobberley
If you have wares to sell,
Don't leave the path at the Wizard's Inn
Or drink at the Wizard's well.


Read more: http://folk-lyrics.co.uk/Lyrics/TheWizardOfAlderleyEdge#ixzz44KxzpCpb
Under Creative Commons License: Attribution Non-Commercial