Texty: Barbara Dickson. Parcel of Rogues. Lovely Joan.

A fine young man it was indeed
He was mounted on his milk white steed
He rode, he rode, himself all alone
Until he came to Lovely Joan

"Good morning to you my pretty maid",
And "Twice good morning, sir" she said,
He gave her a wink, she rolled a dark eye
Said he to himself "I'll be there by and by"

Oh don't you think these pooks of hay
A pretty place for us to play
So come with me my sweet young thing
And I'll give you my golden ring

then he pulled off his ring of gold
"My pretty little miss, do this behold.
I'll freely give it for your maidenhead"
And her cheeks they blushed like the roses red

"Give me that ring into my hand
And I will neither stay nor stand
For this would do more more good to me
Than 20 maidenheads" said she

And as he made for the pooks of hay
She leap'd on his horse and tore away
He called, he called, but it was all in vain
Young Joan, she never looked back again

Nor did she think herself quite safe
No, not till she came to her true love's gate
She's robbed him of his horse and his ring
And left him to rage in the meadows green