Lovely Joan - Barbara Dickson

A fine young man it was indeed

Mounted upon his milk-white steed

He rode, he rode, himself all alone

Until he came to lovely Joan

«Good morning to you, my pretty little maid.»

«Twice good morning, sir,» she said

He tipped her the wink, she rolled her eye

Said he to himself, «I'll be there by and by.»

«Now, don’t you think there pooks of hay

A pretty place for us to play?

So come with me like a sweet young thing

And I’ll give you my golden ring.»

«Give me the ring into my hand

And I will nither stay nor stand

For that would be more us to me

Than twenty maidenheads,» said she

Then as he made for the pooks of hay

She leapt on his horse and she rode away

He called and called, but all in vain

Young Joan she never looked back again

Nor did she think herself quite safe

Not till she came to her true love’s gate

She’s robbed the lord of his horse and ring

And left him to rage in the meadows green