A fine young man it was indeed
He mounted upon his milk white steed
He rode, he rode, himself 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, she rolled a dark eye
Said 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 my sweet young thing
And I'll give you my golden ring"
Then he pulled off his ring of gold
"My pretty little miss, do you this behold
I'll freely give it for your maidenhead"
Her cheeks they blushed like the roses red
"Give me that ring into my hand
And I will neither stay nor stand
For this would do more good to me
Than twenty maidenheads" said she
And as he made for the pooks of hay
She leaped on his horse and tore away
He called, he called, but it was all in vain
For Joan, she never looked back again
Nor did she think herself quite safe
Not till she came to her true lover's gate
She's robbed him of his horse and ring
And left him to rage in the meadows green