It was Yankee the squire
As I've heard the men say
Who rode out a-huntin' on one Saturday.
They hunted all day but nothing they found
But a poor murdered woman
Laid on the cold ground.
About eight o'clock boys the dogs
they throwed off
on Leatherhead Common
and that was the spot.
They tried all the bushes but nothing they found
But a poor murdered woman
Laid on the cold ground.
They mounted their horses
And they rode off the ground
They rode to the village
And alarmed it all around.
It is late in the evening I'm sorry to say
She cannot be removed until the next day.
The next Sunday morning about eight o'clock
Some hundreds of people
To the spot they did flock
For to see the poor creature
Your hearts would have bled
Some cold-hearted violence
Came into their heads.
She was took off the common
And down to some inn
And the man that has kept it,
His name is John Simms.
The coroner was sent for, the jury they pined,
And soon they concluded and settled their mind.
Her coffin was brought, in it she was laid
And took to the churchyard
This cold winter day.
No father, no mother, no long friend untold
Came to see the poor creature
Laid under the cold.
So now I'll conclude and I'll finish my song
And those that have damage
Shall find themselves wrong
The last day of Judgment
The trumpet shall sound
And their souls not in heaven
I'm afraid won't be found.