Kyrle took his cobb'd stick
And beat his daughter;
He said: "I'll teach my chick
As a father oughter."
Young Will, the son,
Heard his sister shriek;
He took his gun
Quick as a streak.
He said: "Now, dad,
Stop, once for all!"
He was a good lad,
Good at kicking the ball.
His father clubbed
The girl on the head.
Young Will upped
And shot him dead.
"Now, sister," said Will,
"I've a-killed father,
As I said I'd kill.
O my love, I'd rather
"A-kill him again
Than see you suffer.
O my little Jane,
Kiss good-bye to your brother.
"I won't see you again,
Nor the cows homing,
Nor the mice in the grain,
Nor the primrose coming,
"Nor the fair, nor folk,
Nor the summer flowers
Growing on the wold,
Nor ought that's ours.
"Not Tib the cat,
Not Stub the mare,
Nor old dog Pat,
Never anywhere.
"For I'll be hung
In Gloucester prison
When the bell's rung
And the sun's risen."