Then the thief being thirsty for gold, And eager to get at his bags, He dra'ed out his rusty old sword, And chopped up the saddle to rags. 10 The old man slipped off his old mare, And mounted the thief's horse astride, Clapp'd spur, and put him in a gallop, Saying "I, without teaching, can ride." 11 When he to his landlord's had come, That old man was almost a-spent, Says he, "Landlord, provide me a room. I be come for to pay up my rent." 12 He opened the thief, his portmantle And there was a sight to behold, There were five hundred pounds in silver, And five hundred pounds in gold. 13 And as he was on his way home, And riding along the same lane, He seed--his silly old mare, Tied up to the hedge by the mane. 14 He loosed his old mare from the hedge, As she of the grass there did crib, He gi'ed her a whack o' the broad o' the back, Saying "Follow me home, old Tib." 15 Aw! When to his home he were come His daughter he dress'd like a duchess, And his ol' woman kicked and she capered for joy, And at Christmas danced jigs on her crutches. Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo. No. 19 THE MONTHS OF THE YEAR C.J.S. [Music] 1 First comes January When the sun lies very low; I see in the farmer's yard The cattle feed on stro'; The weather being so cold While the snow lies on the ground, There will be another change of moon Before the year comes round. 2 Next is February, So early in the spring; The Farmer ploughs the fallows The rooks their nests begin. The little lambs appearing Now frisk in pretty play. I think upon the increase, And thank my God, to-day. 3 March it is the next month, So cold and hard and drear. Prepare we now for harvest, By brewing of strong beer. God grant that we who labour, May see the reaping come, And drink and dance and welcome The happy Harvest Home. 4 Next of Months is April, When early in the morn The cheery farmer soweth To right and left the corn. The gallant team come after, A-smoothing of the land. May Heaven the Farmer prosper Whate'er he takes in hand. 5 In May I go a walking To hear the linnets sing. The blackbird and the throstle A-praising God the King. It cheers the heart to hear them To see the leaves unfold, The meadows scattered over With buttercups of gold. 6 Full early in the morning Awakes the summer sun, The month of June arriving, The cold and night are done, The Cuckoo is a fine bird She whistles as she flies, And as she whistles, Cuckoo, The bluer grow the skies. 7 Six months I now have named, The seventh is July. Come lads and lasses gather The scented hay to dry, All full of mirth and gladness To turn it in the sun, And never cease till daylight sets And all the work is done. 8