Mudcat Café message #421776 The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #31748   Message #421776
Posted By: Malcolm Douglas
20-Mar-01 - 02:50 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Req: Lord Gresham (Martin Furey)
Subject: Lyr Add: LORD GRESHAM (Martin Furey)
I have this song on the engaging sampler from Mrs. Casey Records, Evolving Tradition (MCRCD5991, 1995), which features 21 tracks, mostly excellent, from (relatively) young performers, including, as it happens, my good friend Cath James of Roger The Badger. Bohinta do rather slur their words, so this is only my best guess at a transcription:


LORD GRESHAM
(Martin Furey, Banshee Music, 1995)

[The] brazen Lord Gresham stares down from the hill,
Where he surveys his lands and Man suffers his will;
He's a light horseman, he's taken wing
From fighting in battles where [Murder is] the king.

He looks for the woman he loved as a girl
And in that small village her heart pumps with love
She's found and she's married a young gipsy man,
Whose gentle [white] majesty she has let in.

[There] the brazen Lord Gresham is weary of lies,
As he kneels down before her, that she'd be his bride;
She laughs to the wind, the salt tear to the sea,
Saying, "I will never bow to you in your finery;
I will never bow to you in your finery.

You'll make me a widow to make me your bride,
As you made me an orphan when my people died,
In fields of starvation where I too could lie;
But I will never bow to you in your finery."

He bursts with an anger, he screams with a pride,
That he'll have her as lover or take her as bride.
He's called on his soldiers, her gipsy to find;
He's taken his truelove, for which he must die.

The sun bleached the rocks on the cool mountain side,
As they cornered her gipsy 'tween heather and tide.
Lord Gresham has taken his sword in his hand;
With a wave of his cold steel, he's stolen her man.

"Oh, darling Lord Gresham, you're brave and you're strong,
For you've bested my love who could best anyone;
And yes, I will marry, yes, I'll be your bride,
And I'll go to the altar to stand by your side."

She waits at the altar, in fear of her life,
For beneath her white petticoat she carries a knife;
Saying, "Hang me as murderess, hang me as whore,
But Lord Gresham will die before this night is o'er."

Oh, lifeless Lord Gresham, this widow's no bride,
For you made her an orphan when her people died;
She stands now above you, as proud as can be,
For she will never bow to you in your finery;
No, she will never bow to you in your finery.


Malcolm