A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,
WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC
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WRAGGLE-TAGGLE GYPSIES-O
There were three gypsies a-come to my door,
And downstairs ran this lady-O.
One sang high, and another sang low,
The other sang “bonny bonny Biscay-O.”
Then she’s cast off her silk finished gown,
And put on hose of leather-O.
The ragged, ragged rags about our door,
She’s gone with the wraggle-taggle gypsies-O.
It was late last night when my Lord came home,
Inquiring for his lady-O.
The servants said on every hand,
She’s gone with the wraggle-taggle gypsies-O.
Go saddle to me my milk-white steed.
Go and fetch me my pony-O.
That I may ride and seek my bride
Who’s gone with the wraggle-taggle gypsies-O.
O he rode high, and he rode low,
He rode through woods and copses too,
Till he came to a cold open field.
There he espied his lady-O.
What makes you leave your house and land?
What makes you leave your money-O?
What makes you leave your new wedded Lord
To go with the wraggle-taggle gypsies-O.
O what care I for my house and land?
What care I for my money-O?
What care I for my new wedded Lord?
I’m off with the wraggle-taggle gypsies-O.
Last night you slept on a goose feather bed
With sheet turned down so bravely-O.
Tonight you’ll sleep in a cold open field,
Along with the wraggle-taggle gypsies-O.
O what care I for a goose feather bed
With sheet turned down so bravely-O?
Tonight I’ll sleep in a cold open field
Along with the wraggle-taggle gypsies-O.
Traditional English
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