THE CROPPY BOY
The Croppy Boy
’Twas early early in the spring
The birds did whistle and sweetly sing
Changing their notes from tree to tree
And the song they sang was Old Ireland free.
‘Twas early early on a Tuesday night
The Yeoman cavalry gave me a fright
To my misfortune and sad downfall
I was taken by Lord Cornwall.
‘Twas in his guard-house where I was laid
And in a parlour I was tried
My sentence passed and my spirits low
When to New Geneva I was forced to go.
As I was marching over Wexford Hill
Oh who could blame me to cry my fill
I looked behind I looked before
But my tender mother I ne’er saw no more.
Farewell father and mother too
And sister Mary I have none but you
And for my brother he’s all alone
He’s pointing pikes on the grinding stone.
‘Twas in Old Ireland this young man died
And in Old Ireland his body laid
All the good people that do pass by
Pray the Lord have mercy on the Croppy Boy.
