The Ballad Of Stewball
by Corny Held
by Corny Held
You Gentlemen Sportsmen
I pray listen all
I'll sing you a song
in the praise of Stewball
And how they came over
you shall understand
By one Squire Irvine
the Mell of our land.
500 bright guineas
on the plains of Kildare
I'll bet upon, Sportsmen,
that bonny-grey mare
Stewball hearing the wager,
the wager was laid
He said loving master,
its don't be afraid.
For on my side thou'st laid
thousands of pounds
I'll rig in thy castle
a fine mass of gold.
Squire Irvine he smiled,
and thus he did say,
You gentlemen-sportsmen
to-morrow's the day
Your saddles and bridles,
and horses prepare,
For we will away
to the plains of Kildare.
The day being come,
& the horses bro't out,
Squire Irvine he order'd
his rider to mount.
All the people then went
to see them go round
They swore in their hearts
he ne'er touch'd the ground.
And as they were riding
this was the discourse
The grey mare will never
touch this horse.
O, loving kind rider
come tell unto me,
How far is the grey mare
behind you said he...
O loving master
you bear a great smile,
Grey mare is behind me
a large English mile
For in this country
I was ne'er seen before
Thou hast won the race
& broken lord Gore.
I pray listen all
I'll sing you a song
in the praise of Stewball
And how they came over
you shall understand
By one Squire Irvine
the Mell of our land.
500 bright guineas
on the plains of Kildare
I'll bet upon, Sportsmen,
that bonny-grey mare
Stewball hearing the wager,
the wager was laid
He said loving master,
its don't be afraid.
For on my side thou'st laid
thousands of pounds
I'll rig in thy castle
a fine mass of gold.
Squire Irvine he smiled,
and thus he did say,
You gentlemen-sportsmen
to-morrow's the day
Your saddles and bridles,
and horses prepare,
For we will away
to the plains of Kildare.
The day being come,
& the horses bro't out,
Squire Irvine he order'd
his rider to mount.
All the people then went
to see them go round
They swore in their hearts
he ne'er touch'd the ground.
And as they were riding
this was the discourse
The grey mare will never
touch this horse.
O, loving kind rider
come tell unto me,
How far is the grey mare
behind you said he...
O loving master
you bear a great smile,
Grey mare is behind me
a large English mile
For in this country
I was ne'er seen before
Thou hast won the race
& broken lord Gore.
Song 
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