My Lady rides a-hunting
Upon a dapple grey:
Six trumpeters they ride behind,
Six prickers clear the way.

And when she climbs the hillsides
The Hunt cries: " Ho! la! Lo! "
And when she trails along the dales
The merry horns do blow.

And so in summer weather,
Before the heat of day,
My darling takes all eyes and breaks
My heart and makes away.