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’