This is a Tuesday post disguised as a Wednesday post because first thing in the morning I'll be teaching a ballad workshop to 10th graders and thus must spend my usual post time feeding chickens, fighting for the shower, and driving.

So in my stead I'll offer you this very old ballad, which I hope will, at the very least, teach you to (1) never, ever eat "eels in broo" and (2) also avoid feeding them to your dog.

Lord Randal (earliest printed date 1787, but no doubt much older)

Anonymous

“O where have you been, Lord Randal, my son?

O where have you been, my handsome young man?”

“I have been to the wood; mother, make my bed soon,

For I’m weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.”

“Where got you your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?

Where got ye your dinner, my handsome young man?”

“I dined with my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,

For I’m weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.”

“What had you for dinner, Lord Randal, my son?

What had you for dinner, my handsome young man?”

“I had eels boiled in broo; mother, make my bed soon,

For I’m weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.”

“What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son?”

What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?”

“O they swelled and they died; mother, make my bed soon,

For I’m weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.”

“O I fear you are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son!

I fear you are poisoned, my handsome young man!”

“O yes! I am poisoned; mother, make my bed soon,

For I’m sick at the heart, and I fain would lie down.”