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The Poacher's Fate Come all ye lads of high renown Who love to drink strong ale that's brown And pull the lofty pheasant down With powder, shot and gun. I and five more a-poaching went To get some game was our intent Our money being gone and spent We'd nothing else to try. The moon shone bright, not a cloud in sight The keeper heard us fire the gun And quickly to the spot he run And swore before the rising sun, That one of us should die. The bravest lad in all the lot 'Twas his misfortune to be shot Mis memory ne'er shall be forgot Until the judgment day. For help he cried, but it was denied Deep was the wound the keeper gave No mortal man his life could save He now lies sleeping in the grave Until the judgment day. From Song Catcher in the Southern Mountains, Scarborough Collected from Genevieve Ingersoll DT #351 Laws L14 RG oct96
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!