The Ranter (Trad ?, heard from Chris Foster)
^^
It's of a sly, ranting parson, for preaching he lived in great fame
In the town of Roper did dwell, though I dare not to mention his name
Likewise a jolly young farmer, a neighbour living close by
Soon on the wife of the farmer the ranter he cast a quick eye

While the farmer was minding his business and rose with the lark in the morning
The ranter was forming a plan to crown the young farmer with thorns
And he oft to the farmers did go, to pray for the good of his soul
But when you have heard of the joke, I'll warrant you'll say it was droll

The ranter, if you had but seen him, you'd think he was free from all evil
As pure as snow driven without, within was as black as the devil
One day when the farmer was out he said 'I will have my desire'
And straight to the house he did go and he sat himself down by the fire

He said 'my good woman I'm told that your husband won't be home tonight
I value not silver or gold if I could but enjoy my delight'
Then she replied with a smile 'My husband is gone for a week'
And little the ranter did think as she meant to play him a trick

When all things were silent at night, she whispered these words in his ear
'The best bed it stands in the parlour, and you must go to it my dear
When you are safe off to bed, my dear, I will come with all speed'
'Alright' said the ranter, 'make haste', and so was the bargain agreed

The ranter got into bed and he lay there as snug as you please
And the lady went into the garden and fetched back a fine hive of bees
She carried them into the parlour and put them down slap on the floor
So nimbly then she ran out and on him she locked the door

And the bees began buzzing about and the ranter jumped up on the floor
So sweetly he capered and danced as they stung him behind and before
And then he got out of the window since no other way could he find
His clothes he ne'er stopped for to take but was glad for to leave them behind

All smarting and sore with the stings he ran home to his wife in his shirt
Such a figure of fun for to see all besmeared with mud and with dirt
And the farmer come home the next morning and after the truth had been told
In one of the ranters right pockets found thirty bright guineas in gold

And the ranter got into disgrace and the farmer he laughed at the joke
To think how the ranter would look without trousers, waistcoat or cloak
The ranter he frets and he pines all for the loss of his money
The farmer, though he lost his bees, thinks he is well paid for his honey