The Croppy Boy

It was early in the Spring,
The small birds whistled, sweet did they sing,
Changing their notes from tree to tree,
The song they sung was, Old Ireland free!

It was early last Thursday night,
The yeoman cavalry gave me a fright,
The yeoman cavalry was my downfall
When I was taken to “Lord Cornwall.”

It was in his guard house where I was laid,
And in his parlor where I was tried,
My sentence passed, and my spirits low,
When to New Guinea I was forced to go.

When I was marching through the street,
The drums and fifes did play so sweet.
The drums and fifes so sweetly played,
As we were marching so far away.

When I was marching past my father’s door,
My brother William stood on the floor,
My aged father did grieve full sore,
And my tender mother her hair she tore.

When my sister Mary heard the express,
She ran down stairs in her morning dress,
Saying “Five hundred guinea I would lay down
To see you march through Wexford town.”

As I was marching through Wexford at,
My sister Mary I chanced to meet;
That false young woman did me betray,
And for one guinea she swore my life away.

And when I am dead and taken to my grave,
A decent funeral pray let me have;
And over my head plant a laurel tree,
In sweet remembrances of me.

When I was marching o’er Wexford Hill,
O! who could blame me to cry my fill:
I looked behind me, I looked before,
But my tender mother I ne’er saw more.

I chose the dark, I chose the blue,
I chose the pink and orange, too;
I forsook all those, and did then deny,
I wore the green, and for it I’ll die.

When I was mounted on the gallows high
My aged father was standing by;
My aged father did me deny.
And the name he gave me was “The Croppy Boy!”

It was in old Ireland this young man died,
And in old Ireland his body lies;
All the good people that do pass by
Say, “The Lord have mercy on the Croppy Boy.”

Sent in by H.R.D.

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