  At Christmas, when the wind blew cauld, And frost and snaw’s o’er ilka dale, Robin of Norham lost his way, And at Capheaton thus did quail:— O whether this is lairdly ha’, Or poor man’s shield, O let me in; I’m a poor Piper lost my way, Unsneck your door and let me in. O pity take, and dinna scorn, Heffell I’ll screw my pipes and heartsome play, And with a sang I’ll weel repay. “When cockle shells and silver bells, And bawds and whores do churches build, When younkers cease to rant and drink, And usurers tell their gold in field. “When old Sir Humphery And preaches in his best array: When indigo dies red and brown, Your honor shall be paid your hay.” “When Nether Witton is waterless, And Capheaton without a whin; Shafto Crag all turn’d to peat and moss, And cannot bear a foot aboon. “When old Sir Humphery rides to Rome, And preaches in his best array: When indigo dies red and brown, Your honor shall be paid your hay.” |
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