  “Old woman by the hedgerow In gown of withered black, With beads and pins and buttons And ribbons in your pack— How many miles do you go? To Dumbleton and back?” “To Dumbleton and back, sir, And round by Cotsall Hill, I count the miles at morning, At night I count them still, A Jill without a Jack, sir, I travel with a will.” “It’s little men are paying For such as you can do, You with the grey dust in your hair And sharp nails in your shoe, The young folks go a-Maying, But what is May to you?” “I care not what they pay me While I can hear the call Of cattle on the hillside, And watch the blossoms fall In a churchyard where maybe There’s company for all.” |
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