One evening as I rambled three miles below Fermoy,
I met a little wee girl all on the mountain high.
I said, “My little wee girl, your beauty shines most clear,
And on this lonely mountainside, I’m glad to meet you here.
She said, “Young man be civil, Sir; my company forsake.
For it is true, I look at you, I fear I see a rake!
And if my parents came to know, my life they would destroy.
For the keeping of your company all on the mountain high.”
“Oh, no, my dear, I am no rake brought up in Venus’s train.
I’m searching from concealment all from the judge’s men,
But your beauty has ensnared me; I cannot pass you by,
And by my sword I will guard you all on the mountain high.”
Her cherry cheeks and ruby lips, they lost their former dye.
She fell into his arms there all on the mountain high.
He had not kissed her once or twice when she came to again,
And modestly she asked him, “Oh, Sir, what is your name?”
“Well, if by chance you look for me, by chance you’ll not me find.
‘Tis writ in ancient history, my name is Reynardine!”
Sun and dark she followed him; his teeth so bright did shine,
And he led her o’re the mountainside, that sly old Reynardine.
So, come all of you pretty, fair maids; this warning take by me:
Never go a-roving and shun bad company.
For if you do, you’ll surely rue until the day you die,
And beware of meeting Reynardine all on the mountain high.