| In the spring of thirteen twenty two
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| Henry Felip and his son
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| Were riding home from Northampton
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| When they met with six bold robbers
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| Henry shouted to his son
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| «Take the money, boy and run»
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| So he’s turned his horse to Courteenhall
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| For to raise the hue and cry
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| His father faced this ugly crew
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| But six to one, what could he do?
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| And when his son returned with help
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| He was too late to save him
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| He left his father where he lay
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| Through his tears to ride that day
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| And pursue the killers in their way
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| As they made off in the distance
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| Five of six, they swiftly caught
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| But one alone did slip their grasp
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| And to Wooten Church, he’s turned away
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| And through her doors she’s took him
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| Sanctuary was his claim
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| Sword and grief outside remain
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| Till the Coroner he quickly came
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| To hear the thief’s confession
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| «I'm John of Ditchford», said the man
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| «I was there of six our band
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| And yes, we killed that nobleman
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| On the road to Stoke Bruerne»
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| «Do you now abjure the realm?
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| What’s your meaning?», says young John
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| «You will leave this land and never return
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| Or your blood we will spill on her»
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| «Do you now abjure the realm?
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| I abjure it», says young John
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| «So to Dover you will straightway go
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| And the first ship you will take her»
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| He must reach that distant port
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| Without coin nor shoes nor friend
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| And stand in the ocean to his knees
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| And wait what ship would have him
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| They took from him all he had
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| Gave him sackcloth for to wear
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| And a wooden cross for him to hold
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| On the lonely road to Dover
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| He sets out upon the road
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| Cross in hand and heavy heart
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| They found him headless in a field
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| A mile away from Wooten |