The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees, the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, the road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor, and the highwayman came riding riding riding the highwayman came riding
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;he'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin. They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh! and he rode with a jewelled twinkle his rapier hilt a-twinkle his pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky
over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred, he whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there but the landlord's black-eyed daughter bess, the landlord's daughter plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked