WILLIAM CORBY

I drive my cows to Corby; On sweet spring-grass they’re fed; But it’s Madge who nestles wantonly In William Corby’s bed. I drive my sheep to Corby, And the gold-dust’s on the willow; But it’s Nellie’s winsome curls that lie On William Corby’s pillow. I drive my geese to Corby When the bind-weed’s in the wheat; But it’s Bess who cuddles warm and sly ’Neath William Corby’s sheet. I drive my pigs to Corby; And the hips and haws are red; But none but me will mind o’ he When William Corby’s dead!