Tinker's Song

Did 'e ever hear tell of a pretty young keeper, In a green velvet jacket and gaiters so gay? He watched the night through in the dark hazel copses, And went to his bed at the dawn of the day.

Then where have you been, O my pretty young keeper, That you weep with your face in the bracken so brown? I weep for the weasel I shot in the heather, And for the wild hawk that my gun has brought down.

The hares are all safe, O my pretty young keeper, The fat deer lie down in the heart o' the wood, It must be the hares that have broke the green bushes, It must be the deer that have splashed 'em with blood.

There's a stain on your breast, O my pretty young keeper, And your noble green jackets all dirtied about, There was two that went in to the dark hazel copses, There was two that went in and but one that came out.

Then it's what is your grief, O my pretty young keeper, Since the hares are not snared and the deer are not run? It's O, that I lay in the dark hazel copses, And my father 'd come home in the stead o' his son.