False foxes under me
Digging a hole to bury me.
One had a shovel, t’other had a spade
The one that had nothing was heaviest laid
My heart did ache,
And my tongue did shake
To see what a hole the fox did make
When I was up in the ivy-tree.
False Foxes (2)
From Blackdowns near Chipstable
Where were I last Saturday night?
I were up in the ivy tree,
False foxes under me
Seeking to bury me
Under the ivy tree.
The boughs they did shake,
My heart it did quake
To see the grave they digged for me.
But as for me,
I were up in the tree.
Gold and silver and all the world’s wealth;
Who leaves a grave open will fill it hisself.
As they creeped oop in the dark o’ the moon
I were up in the ivy tree.
They fell in the grave and they di-ed soon;
I were up in the ivy tree.
The boughs they did shake, their necks they did break,
All in the grave they digged for me.
But as for me
I were up in the tree.
Gold and silver and all the world’s wealth;
Who leaves a grave open will fill it hisself.
THERE WERE A young maid as had a girt vortune in gold an’ silver an’ a red-headed hose-bird called Mr. Fox came a-courting she. He’d a tongue on him zo smooth as scald cream and the maid her liked ’n more’n a bit. But she didn’t trust’n mind, not altogether, so when he ask her to meet’n over-right the covert one Saturday night her didn’t gainsay’n nor yet her didn’t zay no. Mind he were sure she’d go and she was bound to zee for herself zince her mind wasn’t quite clear ’bout ’n.
Her bedecked herzelf and ’er went there early on and was up top of a girt tree when Mr. Fox comed by. And he didn’t come alone nuther! There was the two of en a-digging a grave right under the tree. Then they took out knives, so they did, and they waited for the maid to come along, see. Well, they waited and they waited. Her zoul a’most vailed her and she was ready to swound to find he wasn’t worth a nort. But her were a spirity maid! And when morning come she did climb down and go on home. The next time Mr. Fox come a-courting and showing all his teeth properly agrin, she asks’n a riddle, see.
Last Zaturday night as I zat high,
Awaiting vor one but tew come by,
Tree it did bend, my zoul it did quake
Vor to see the hole they two did make.
Then Mr. Fox he stops agrinning all to a sudden and he outs the window like a vlash of vire. But the maid her’d a-told the Hunt where he was to and there they all was a-waiting vor’n. Don’t reckon he digged no more graves for pretty young maidens with vortunes.
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