Catches, canons and drinking songs
The text of this item has been flagged as containing misogyny.
Under a green elm
lies Luke Shepherd’s helm
that steered him ev’ry way,
wherefore now he’s gone,
mourning there is none,
he followed her corpse in grey,
he smiled at the grave
like a fleering knave,
she’ll tell him on’t at the last day,
for if we must rise
with the same body and eyes,
she’ll have the same tongue, folks say.