Lovely Joan

A fine young man it was indeed
Mounted on his milk-white steed
He rode, he rode, and he rode all alone
Until he came to lovely Joan

"Good morning to you, my pretty maid."
And "Twice good morning, sir," she said
He tipped her the wink, and she rolled her dark eye
Says he to himself, "I'll be there by and by."

"Oh, don't you think these pooks of hay
A pretty place for us to play?
So come with me, me sweet young thing
And I'll give you my golden ring."

So he took off his ring of gold
Says, "Me pretty fair miss, do this behold
Freely I'll give it for your maidenhead."
And her cheeks they blushed like the roses red

"Come give that ring into my hand
And I will neither stay nor stand
For your ring is worth much more to me
Than twenty maidenheads," said she

And as he made for the pooks of hay
She leapt on his horse and tore away
He called, he called, but he called in vain
For Joan she ne'er looked back again

Nor did she she think herself quite safe
Until she came to her true love's gate
She'd robbed him of his horse and ring
And she left him to rage in the meadows green