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 'Tis seven long miles across the moor,

And should you from our cottage stray,

You'll meet, I fear, no friendly door,

No soul to tell the ready way.

Come, dearest Kate, the meal prepare,

This stranger shall partake our best;

A cake and rasher be his fare,

With ale that makes the weary blest.

Approach the hearth, there take a place,

And, till the hour of rest draws nigh,

Of Robin Hood, and Chevy Chace,

We'll sing, then to our pallets hie.

Had I the means I'd use you well;

’Tis little I have got to boast;

But should you of our cottage tell,

Say, Hal the Woodman was your host.