| [00:00.000] |
作曲 : Traditional |
| [00:08.44] |
The merry brown hares came a-leaping |
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Over the crest of the hill |
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Where the clover and corn lay a-sleeping |
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Under the moonlight so still |
| [00:26.02] |
Leaping so late and so early |
| [00:30.12] |
'Till under their bite and their tread |
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The swedes and the wheat and the barley |
| [00:38.58] |
Lay cankered and trampled and dead |
| [00:45.33] |
A poacher's poor widow sat sighing |
| [00:49.55] |
On the side of the moss-patterned bank |
| [00:53.93] |
Where under the gloom of the fir-woods |
| [00:58.26] |
One acre of ground laying rank |
| [01:02.51] |
She watched over barely grown clover |
| [01:06.66] |
Where rabbit or hare never ran |
| [01:11.29] |
For the ground that it all covered over |
| [01:15.56] |
Hid the blood of a good murdered man |
| [01:22.35] |
She thought of the shaded plantation |
| [01:26.49] |
And the hares and her husband's own blood |
| [01:30.82] |
And the voice of her own indignation |
| [01:35.08] |
Rose up to the throne of her God |
| [01:39.36] |
There's blood on your new foreign shrubs, Squire |
| [01:43.75] |
There's blood on your pointer's cold feet |
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There's blood on the game that you sell Squire |
| [01:52.38] |
And there's blood on the game that you eat |
| [01:58.24] |
You have sold out the labouring man, Squire |
| [02:03.35] |
Both body and soul for to shame |
| [02:07.72] |
To pay for your seat in the House, Squire |
| [02:11.88] |
And to pay for the feed of your game |
| [02:16.24] |
You made him a poacher yourself, Squire |
| [02:20.49] |
When you'd give not the work nor the meat |
| [02:25.04] |
And your barley-fed hares robbed the garden |
| [02:29.25] |
At our starving poor little one's feet |
| [02:35.24] |
When packed into one tiny chamber |
| [02:40.16] |
Man, mother and little ones lay |
| [02:44.38] |
While the rain pattered in on our bride bed |
| [02:48.83] |
And the walls barely held out the day |
| [02:53.15] |
When we lay in the heat of the fever |
| [02:57.48] |
On the mud and the clay of the floor |
| [03:01.76] |
'Till you parted us all for three months, Squire |
| [03:06.14] |
And we knocked at the working house door |
| [03:12.76] |
So to kennels and liveried varlets |
| [03:16.85] |
Where you starved your own daughter of bread |
| [03:21.46] |
And worn out with liquor and ******s |
| [03:25.55] |
See your heirs at your feet lying dead |
| [03:29.98] |
When you follow them into your heaven |
| [03:34.35] |
And your soul rots asleep in the grave |
| [03:38.78] |
Then Squire, you will not be forgiven |
| [03:42.95] |
By the free men you took as your slaves |
