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`The Lincolnshire Poacher´
When
I was a-bound apprentice,
In
famous Lincolnsheer,
Full well I served my master
For more than seven year,
Till I took up with poaching,
As you shall quickly hear:
Oh! 'tis my delight of a shiny night,
In the season of the year.
As me and my comrades
Were setting of a snare,
Twas then we seed the gamekeeper
For him we did not care,
For we can wrestle and fight, my boys,And jump o'er
everywhere:
Oh! 'tis my delight of a shiny night,
In the season of the year.
As me and my comrades
Were setting four or five,
And taking on him up again,
We caught the hare alive;
We caught the hare alive, my boys,
And through the woods did steer:
Oh! 'tis my delight of a shiny night,
In the season of the year.
Bad luck to every magistrate
That lives in Lincolnsheer;
Success to every poacher
That wants to sell a hare;
Bad luck to every gamekeeper
That will not sell his deer:
Oh! 'tis my delight of a shiny night,
In the season of the year.
An
Old English folk song circa.1770
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