William Noble bought a pony, for William number three...

How, on one Sunday morning this pony did get clear

Just sit awhile and listen, the sad story you shall hear.

This pony it was frolicsome and it was unknown to Bill

He took her by the mane that day to lead her to the well...

As he laid the rope across her neck, she started off to jog

Just as fast as she could gallop up across gripewater bog.

William Noble started after her with young Bill on behind,

And Theodore joined in the chase but he was just in time

To see that pony disappear and go into the wood

He said, "We just as well turn back and give her up for good."

Said Uncle John to Martha, "Now where did that pony go,

She won’t hurt out a night or two if we don’t have any snow;

Now Sarah maid, don’t worry and go and rock that child

T’is just his bloody nature that makes that pony wild."

Just as the words had left his lips, sure Theodore walked in,

He said the pony it was gone and nowhere could be seen...

Then Bill spoke up, quite angrily, "Now this thing makes me mad,

if I only had my money back, it wouldn’t seem so bad."

Said Bill, I’ll phone to Middle Arm, for curiousity,

To see what all my friends up there can really do for me...

But when he got an answer back, he found that he was wrong,

There’s a nag astray, up Belgium way, but to Bill she don’t belong.

Says Bill on Tuesday morning, ‘tis now I am confused,

I don’t know where that mare is gone, and can’t get any news...

Now did she go to Belgium, or down to Chinatown?

This much I know, come rain or snow, that pony must be found.

Said Uncle John next morning, "now ‘twas some bloody scote

To get that pony ‘cross the bay and get her from the boat,

Now how much did you pay for her? Thirty dollars did you say?

Haha now Bill, "twas just as well, to throw the stuff away.

Aunt Martha said to Uncle John, "you won’t have to haul and swear

To get the firewood ‘cross the pond and bog this year,

When Bill Flick finds his pony you won’t even have to scote

A budtop for the barkpot or a brousetop for the goat.

Uncle John arose, put on his clothes, put on his old Capeann,

He said, "this is the damdest fuss that was ever on the strand,

Then Theodore he put in a word, now if I had my say,

I’d wish that bloody pony was still across the bay.

And so on Wednesday evening, the news around was spread,

If Bill don’t get his pony soon, he will soon go off his head...

His head is bad, his eyes are strained; said he, "My legs are dead."

"Your strength is gone," said Uncle John, "You’d better go to bed."

It was early Thursday morning, William Noble did awake

After searching for that pony three days without a break.

He said, "I’ll go for Wesley and once more we will walk down

Those four miles of mud and water that leads to Belgium town.

Said Uncle John to Dory, "What are you doing here,

Why don’t you go and join the chase to catch Will Noble’s mare?"

Then Theodore he made this reply, "My back it is too bad..

For Dodds pills now I cannot buy, since prices are gone mad."

Then coming back that evening and much to their surprise

In back of Mister Perry’s, there she was before their eyes...

Said William to that pony, "now you march around that shore

And when you lands, upon the strand, you’ll run away no more!"

Once more the strand did ring with cheers when William he got back...

Uncle John stood in the door, Aunt Martha at his back.

He said, "Now Bill you’ve had some jaunt, I never will forget,

If you lives until next summer, the salmon nets you’ll get."

Now every man upon the strand is feeling pretty good,

Young William feeds the rooster and Theodore get the wood...

And William feeds the pony, on water, oats and hay...

But he keeps his pipe well out of sight around Gripewater way.

Last summer, so the story goes, Bill’s drake just had no vim

And William’s luck was very poor or so it seemed to him...

It seems his luck is better now, it is another year,

His drake is spry, he got a boy, and a thirty-dollar mare.

This story is a warning to a man who lives right near

Who also has a pony and we know it may get clear...

Now when you leads it to the well the rope hold in your hand,

For, if he strays, you’ll rue your days, upon Gripewater strand.

By Gus Rideout & Stan Dwyer

with contributions by

 Eric Mills & Claude Lush.

Narrative by the late Wilson Gillingham.

December, 1943.