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