 | Poems |  |
180
DECEMBER XXXI.
There goes an old Gaffer over the hill,
Thieving, and old, and gray;
He walks the green world, his wallet to fill,
And carries good spoil away.
Thieving, and old, and gray;
He walks the green world, his wallet to fill,
And carries good spoil away.
Into his bag he popped a king;
After him went a friar
Many a lady, with gay gold ring,
Many a knight and squire.
After him went a friar
Many a lady, with gay gold ring,
Many a knight and squire.
He carried my true-love far away,
He stole the dog at my door;
The wicked old Gaffer, thieving and gray
He'll never come by any more.
He stole the dog at my door;
The wicked old Gaffer, thieving and gray
He'll never come by any more.
My little darling, white and fair,
Sat in the door and spun;
He caught her fast by her silken hair,
Before the child could run.
Sat in the door and spun;
He caught her fast by her silken hair,
Before the child could run.
He stole the florins out of my purse,
The sunshine out of mine eyes;
He stole my roses, and, what is worse,
The gray old Gaffer told lies.
The sunshine out of mine eyes;
He stole my roses, and, what is worse,
The gray old Gaffer told lies.
181
He promised fair when he came by,
And laughed as he slipped away,
For every promise turned out a lie;
But his tale is over to-day.
And laughed as he slipped away,
For every promise turned out a lie;
But his tale is over to-day.
Good-by, old Gaffer! you'll come no more,
You've done your worst for me.
The next gray robber will pass my door,
There's nothing to steal or see!
You've done your worst for me.
The next gray robber will pass my door,
There's nothing to steal or see!
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