THE BALLAD OF THE RED SPATS
Oh, gather round, ye maids and men
A story for to hear
Of bumbling pride and rampant lust
And shavings in the beer, my love,
And shavings in the beer
A midnight shaft of moon did swath
All through the darkled wood
And stepping from the shadows black
Was the lass with the mantled hood
The lass with the mantled hood, my own,
The lass with the mantled hood
Swift, oh swift, she fled to the cliff
And the wind did tear at her cloak
She clutched in her hands a pair of spats
Red as a crimson oak
Red as a crimson oak, my heart,
Red as a crimson oak
A strangled cry was heard, they say,
In the village leagues away
On the morning tide the spats did ride
To mark a sad new day
To mark a sad new day, my soul,
To mark a sad new day
And ever anon do I sing to ye
Of a tragedy haunting the past
Red spats on the tide do once more glide
To mourn the lassie who wast
To mourn the lassie who wast, my eyes,
To mourn the lassie who wast
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