Ballad.

Go saddle me the black black steed For I am going on a long long journey Go wipe away the tears that roll Across brawny cheeks of gypsie lassie. Fifteen well made men going on their steeds To get their brides leap over the strand The brunt hills in search of a namer Drying fast to justify conscript of land. Twilled with a broach and a ring wintry The death stalks the hill with sickled moon The leaden sheen on the steed’s back Has turned the night’s face into a roon. Late late yesterday I saw the moon Full bodied like a new sickled maned The death will stalk these streets tonight And am afraid of downy owl’s nickled bane. Come on fair ladies hang your hair down Over the fair head over the abordour The fifteen men have gone to castle waste And along came the death to devour. Go saddle me the black black steed The merry castle keep has hovelled a cry Though death stalks every haste and waste And brawny cheeks of gypsie have gone dry.