I drive my cows to Corby;
On sweet spring-grass they’re fed;
But it’s Madge who nestles wantonly
In William Corby’s bed.
I drive my sheep to Corby,
And the gold-dust’s on the willow;
But it’s Nellie’s winsome curls that lie
On William Corby’s pillow.
I drive my geese to Corby
When the bind-weed’s in the wheat;
But it’s Bess who cuddles warm and sly
’Neath William Corby’s sheet.
I drive my pigs to Corby;
And the hips and haws are red;
But none but me will mind o’ he
When William Corby’s dead!