The Golden Glove
A wealthy young squire near Yarmouth did dwell
He courted a lady that he knew quite well
And then for to have her it was his intent
Her friends and relations soon gave their consent
The day it was appointed the wedding for to be
The farmer was asked for to give her away
But when that the lady the farmer did spy
It went to her heart, ‘Oh, my heart,’ she did cry
So instead of getting married, she took to her bed
The thoughts of the farmer come into her head
So waistcoat and britches the lady did put on
And away she went hunting with her dog and gun
She hunted all around where the farmer did dwell
Because in her heart that she loved him so well
She oftentimes fired, but nothing she killed
Until the young farmer come into the field
And for to behold him it was her intent
With her dog and her gun for to meet him she went
‘I’d’ve thought you’d have been at the wedding,’ she cried
‘To wait upon the squire and to give away the bride’
‘Oh no,’ said the farmer, ‘if the truth I can say
I like her too well for to give her away’
And the lady well pleased for to hear him so bold
She gave him a glove that was very well gold
Saying that she found it as she come along
As she was a-hunting with her dog and gun
The lady turned home with her heart full of love
And gave out such speeches that she’d lost a glove
‘And he that do find it and bring it to me
The man that do find it, his bride I will be’
The farmer, well pleased for to hear the good news
And straight to the lady he goes with the glove
Saying, ‘Honoured lady, I’ve brought your glove
If you’ll be so well pleased as to grant me your love’
‘My love’s already granted,’ the lady replied
‘I love the sweet breath of the farmer,’ she cried
‘And I’ll be the missus go milking the cow
And you shall be the farmer go whistling the plough’