Harris and The Mare

Harris, my old friend, it's good to see your face again

More welcome, though, yon trap and that old mare

For my wife is in a swoon, and I am all alone

Harris, fetch thy mare and take us home

For the wife and I came out for a quiet glass of stout

And a word or two with neighbors in the room

And young Clary, he came in, wild and drunk as sin

And he swore the wife would leave the place with him

But the wife, as quick as thought, said, "No, I'll bloody not"

Then struck the brute a blow about the head

And he raised his ugly paw, and he lashed her on the jaw

And she fell onto the floor like she were dead

Now Harris, well you know, I've never struck an angry blow

Nor would I keep a friend who raised his hand

I was a conscie in the war, cryin', "What the hell's this for?"

But I had to see his blood to be a man

I grabbed him by his coat, spun him 'round and took his throat

And beat his head upon the parlor door

He dragged out an awful knife, and he roared, "I'll have your life"

And he stuck me, and I fell onto the floor

Blood I was from neck to thigh, bloody murder in his eye

As he shouted out, "I'll finish you for sure"

But as the knife came down, I lashed out from the ground

And the knife was in his breast when he rolled o'er

Now with the wife as cold as clay, I carried her away

No hand was raised to help us through the door

Now I've brought her half a mile, and I'll need to rest a while

And none of them I'll call a friend no more

For when the knife came down, I was helpless on the ground

No neighbor stayed his hand, I was alone

But by God, I was a man, and now I cannot stand

Harris, fetch thy mare, and take us home

Harris, fetch thy mare, and get us out of here

In my nine and fifty years, I've never known

That to call myself a man, for my loved ones I must stand

Harris, fetch thy mare take us home