Widdicombe Fair

‘Tom Pearse, Tom Pearse, lend me your grey mare,
All along, down along, out along, lee.
For I want for to go to Widdicombe Fair,
Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,
Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.’
Chorus. Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.

‘And when shall I see again my grey mare?’--
All along, down along, out along, lee.
‘By Friday soon, or Saturday noon,
Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer,’ &c.

Then Friday came, and Saturday noon,
All along, down along, out along, lee.
But Tom Pearse’s old mare hath not trotted home,
Wi’ Bill Brewer, &c.

So Tom Pearse he got up to the top o’ the hill,
All along, down along, out along, lee.
And he seed his old mare down a-making her will
Wi’ Bill Brewer, &c.

So Tom Pearse’s old mare, her took sick and her died.
All along, down along, out along, lee.
And Tom he sat down on a stone, and he cried.
Wi’ Bill Brewer, &c.

But this isn’t the end o’ this shocking affair,
All along, down along, out along, lee.
Nor, though they be dead, of the horrid career
Of Bill Brewer, &c.

When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night,
All along, down along, out along, lee.
Tom Pearse’s old mare doth appear, gashly white,
Wi’ Bill Brewer, &c.

And all the long night be heard skirling and groans,
All along, down along, out along, lee.
From Tom Pearse’s old mare in her rattling bones,
And from Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,
Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all
Chorus. Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.