The Blue Borer

No sweeter end could be found in all Nottinghamshire than that of the blue borer. No man shall see my warrant, till I serve it upon yon fellow's own body. Like man, drink, cried robin, only wetting his own lips,. Oh, Landlord, bring my friend another pot of the same. And now for a song, my jolly blade. By our lady, and doth make my head hum even now. Hey, dame hostess, come listen, and thou what is here a song. The men do call him a right deft hand at quarter-style. That may be, said the tinker, right sturdily,