The Bad Squire by Jon Raven Lyrics

Oh, the merry brown hares came leaping
Over the crest of the hill
Where the clover and corn lay a-sleeping
Under the moonlight still

Leaping late and early
'Till under their bite and their tread
The Swedes and the wheat and the barley
Lay cankered and trampled and dead

Oh, a poacher's widow sat sighing
On the side of the white chalk bank
Where under the gloomy fir-woods
One spot in the ley throve rank

She watched a long tuft of clover
Where rabbit or hare never ran;
For its black sour haulm covered over
The blood of a murdered man

She thought of the dark plantation
The hares, and her husband's blood
And the voice of her indignation
Rose up to the throne of God
"Oh, there's blood on your new foreign shrubs, squire
There's blood on your pointer's feet
There's blood on the game you sell, squire
And there's blood on the game you eat

"You have sold the laboring-man, squire
Body and soul to shame
To pay for your seat in the House, squire
And to pay for the feed of your game

"You made him a poacher yourself, squire
When you'd give neither work nor meat
And your barley-fed hares robbed the garden
At our starving children's feet

"When packed in one reeking chamber
Man, maid, mother, and little ones lay
While the rain pattered in on the rotting bride-bed
And the walls let in the day

"When we lay in the burning fever
On the mud of the cold clay floor
'Till you parted us all for three months, squire
At the dreary workhouse door

"When to kennels and liveried varlets
You have cast your daughter's bread
Oh, and, worn out with liquor and harlots
Your heir at your feet lies dead
"When your youngest, the mealy-mouthed rector
Lets your soul rot asleep to the grave
You will find in your God the protector
Of the freeman you fancied your slave

"Oh, there's blood on your new foreign shrubs, squire
There's blood on your pointer's feet
There's blood on the game you sell, squire
And there's blood on the game you eat."