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Give ear unto my mournful song
  Gay huntsmen every one,
And unto you I will relate
  My sad and doleful moan.
O here I be a silly Doe,
  From Elford Park I strayed,
In leaving of my company
  Myself to death betrayed.

The master said I must be slain
  For 'scaping from his bounds:
"O keeper, wind the hunting horn,
  And chase him with your hounds."
A Duke of royal blood was there,
  And hounds of noble race;
They gathered in a rout next day,
  And after me gave chase.

They roused me up one winter morn,
  The frost it cut my feet,
My red, red blood came trickling down,
  And made the scent lie sweet.
For many a mile they did me run,
  Before the sun went down,
Then I was brought to give a teen,
  And fall upon the groun'.

The first rode up, it was the Duke:
  Said he, "I'll have my will!"
A blade from out his belt he drew
  My sweet red blood to spill.
So with good cheer they murdered me,
  As I lay on the ground;
My harmless life it bled away,
  Brave huntsmen cheering round.