Geordie
One misty morning early,
I overheard a fair, pretty maid,
Was lamenting for her Geordie.
O my Geordie will be hanged
in a golden chain,
'Tis not the chain of many.
He was born of King's royal breed
And lost to a virtous lady
Go bridle me my milk white steed
Go bridle me my pony
I will ride to London's court
And to plead for the life of Geordie.
O my Geordie never stole nor cow nor calf
He never hurted any
Stole sixteen of the King's royal deer
And he sold them in&n
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