COME, neighbours, and listen awhile, If ever you wished to smile, Or hear a true story of old, Attend to what I now unfold! ’Tis of a lad whose fame did resound Through every village and town around, For fun, for frolic, and for whim, None ever was to equal him, And his name was Arthur O’Bradley! O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! Now, Arthur being stout and bold, And near upon thirty years old, He needs a wooing would go, To get him a helpmate, you know. So, gaining young Dolly’s consent, Next to be married they went; And to make himself noble appear, He mounted the old padded mare; He chose her because she was blood, And the prime of his old daddy’s stud. She was wind-galled, spavined, and blind, And had lost a near leg behind; She was cropped, and docked, and fired, And seldom, if ever, was tired, She had such an abundance of bone; So he called her his high-bred roan, A credit to Arthur O’Bradley! O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! Then he packed up his drudgery hose, And put on his holiday clothes; His coat was of scarlet so fine, Full trimmed with buttons behind; Two sleeves it had it is true, One yellow, the other was blue, And the cuffs and the capes were of green, And the longest that ever were seen; His hat, though greasy and tore, Cocked up with a feather before, And under his chin it was tied, With a strip from an old cow’s hide; His breeches three times had been turned, And two holes through the left side were burned; Two boots he had, but not kin, One leather, the other was tin; And for stirrups he had two patten rings, Tied fast to the girth with two strings; Yet he wanted a good saddle cloth, Which long had been eat by the moth. ’Twas a sad misfortune, you’ll say, But still he looked gallant and gay, And his name it was Arthur O’Bradley! O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! Thus accoutred, away he did ride, While Dolly she walked by his side; Till coming up to the church door, In the midst of five thousand or more, Then from the old mare he did alight, Which put the clerk in a fright; And the parson so fumbled and shook, That presently down dropped his book. Then Arthur began for to sing, And made the whole church to ring; Crying, ‘Dolly, my dear, come hither, And let us be tacked together; For the honour of Arthur O’Bradley!’ O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!