| 1 |
Sir Robert Bolton had three sons,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
And one of them was called Sir Ryalas.
For he was a jovial hunter |
| 2 |
He rang'd all round down by the woodside,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
Till up in the top of a tree a gay lady he spy'd.
For he was a jovial hunter |
| 3 |
'O what dost thou mean, fair lady?' said he;
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
'O the wild boar has killed my lord and his men thirty.'
As thou beest a jovial hunter |
| 4 |
'O what shall I do this wild boar to see?'
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
'O thee blow a blast, and he'll come unto thee.'
As thou beest a jovial hunter |
| 5 |
[Then he put his horn unto his mouth],
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
Then he blowd a blast full north, east, west and south.
As he was a jovial hunter |
| 6 |
And the wild boar heard him full into his den;
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
Then he made the best of his speed unto him.
To Sir Ryalas, a jovial hunter |
| 7 |
Then the wild boar, being so stout and so strong,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
He thrashd down the trees as he came along.
To Sir Ryalas, a jovial hunter |
| 8 |
'O what dost thou want of me?' the wild boar said he;
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
'O I think in my heart I can do enough for thee.'
For I am a jovial hunter |
| 9 |
Then they fought four hours in a long summer's day,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
Till the wild boar fain would have gotten away.
From Sir Ryalas, a jovial hunter |
| 10 |
Then Sir Ryalas drawd his broad sword with might,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
And he fairly cut his head off quite.
For he was a jovial hunter |
| 11 |
Then out of the wood the wild woman flew:
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
'Oh thou hast killed my pretty spotted pig!
As thou beest a jovial hunter |
| 12 |
'There are three things I do demand of thee,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
It's thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay lady.'
As thou beest a jovial hunter |
| 13 |
'If these three things thou dost demand of me,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
It's just as my sword and thy neck can agree.'
For I am a jovial hunter |
| 14 |
Then into his locks the wild woman flew,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
Till she thought in her heart she had torn him through.
As he was a jovial hunter |
| 15 |
Then Sir Ryalas drawd his broad sword again,
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
And he fairly split her head in twain.
For he was a jovial hunter |
| 16 |
In Bromsgrove church they both do lie;
Wind well thy horn, good hunter
There the wild boar's head is picturd by
Sir Ryalas, a jovial hunter |
