The Landlord's Daughter

As I was a ramble, down by the water,
I spied in sable the landlord’s daughter.

Produced my pistol, then my saber,
Said, “Make no whistle, or thou wilt be murder’d."

She cursed, she shiver’d, she cried for mercy;
“My gold and silver if thou wilt release me.”

“I’ll take no gold, miss. I’ll take no silver.
I’ll take those sweet lips, and thou wilt deliver!”

by the decemberists