Subject: Lyr Add: ROBIN SPRAGGON'S AULD GREY MARE
From:
Conrad Bladey (Peasant- Inactive)
Date: 01 Apr 00 - 09:31 AM
Robin Spraggon's Auld Grey Mare The miller of Ogle bred me, as I hae heard them say,
And gallantly he fed me with the best of corn and hay;
For meal and malt I wanted not when in his custody,
But now I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare , ae how he's guided me! Sometimes he took his gowpins sometimes he took his hat.
Sometimes he took the mounter dish to where the toll was put';
For meal and malt I wanted not when in his custody,
But now I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, ae how he's guided Me. Spraggon sets the pads upon my back sae early in the morn,
and rides me down to Felton withoiut either hay or corn;
When a' the rest get hay enough there's now never a bite for me,
For I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, ae how he's guided me! Our thrifty dame, Mally, she rises soon at morn,
She goes and tells the master I'm pulling up the corn;
He clicks up the oxen gad, and sair belabours me,
For I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, ae how he's guided me! When aw loup the dyke to Pepperhaugh they hound me back again,
For a' the dogs of Pepperhaugh sae well they do me ken;
They run me to the lairy bog and round about the lea,
For I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, ae how he's guided me! There's Tallyho Trevillian, he hunts upon the hill,
I'll leave to him my carcase to be his dogs a fill,
to make them hunt sly Renny until the day they dee,
For I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, ae how he's guided me! There's fussy parson Olivant, his coat is growing thin,
I'll leave to him my battered hide to roll him cozy in,
to keep him warm in winter, as oft it has done me,
For I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, ae how he's guided me! Then there's stury Willy Hemley, is a ploughman good and true,
I'll leave to him my hind legs to be stilts unto his plough,
To be stilts unto his plough, my lads for he's often riving lea,
For I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, ae how he's guided me! There's canty Matthew Arkley, whiles works about the dykes,
I'll leave to him my small bags to be a pair of pipes,
To play the lasses merry tunes, to make them dance wi'glee,
For I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, ae how he's guided me! There's blythesome Tibby Richison, she is a bonny lass;
The water trough, where oft aw drank, may serve as keeking glass,
To see to set her minner straight, as oft it stands aglee,
For I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, ae how he's guided me! Then there's doughty Tom, the blacksmith, sets the shoes upon my heel.
I'll leave to him my other bones to grind to havermeal,
To grind to havermeal, my lads, I think the've all a share.
For I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, and I can leave ne mair! And as for Robin Spraggon, I've left him not a plack,
for many a time he's spurred my sides, and sore he's licked my back;
But worst of all, he pinched my waim, which caused me to dee,
I was Robin Spraggon's hungered jade, and ill he used me.
|
sj
