A man is judged by character
And not for guts alone, for
His virtue and his honesty
And courtly manners known.

I’ll tell you of a story now,
A tale, if truth be told, of
A gentleman of highwaymen,
A gallant scoundrel bold.

He loved the ladies fair, he did,
But ne’er one did he touch, for
He gave himself to one sweet lass
Whom he loved dearly much.

Katrina was her name, it was,
And yes, she loved him, too, oh
Her gentleman of highwaymen
Whose hart was always true.

He robbed the rich and kept their jewels
To wear upon his cloak, and
For punishing the greedy lords
Was loved by all the folk

Of his fair and lovely city
Which has yet to have a name, for
They wished as not for those to know
Of him, their greatest shame.

Katrina wore a golden brooch
Of stunning fire hue, and
Twas this she gave her highwayman
As turned their loved to new.

“My heart you have upon a chain,
And no one else will see, for
The gentleman of highwaymen,
His heart belongs to me.”

One night he leapt upon his horse
And said, “Katrina dear, now
I ride forth on this stormy eve
With not a trace of fear.

I know I mightn’t make it back
For peril bars my way, but
Your brooch I’ll wear around my neck
Until my life I pay.”

He had no ring for his sweet girl,
For none looked right to him, so
He rode out to the mayor’s house,
A fine prize for to win.

He crept into the window low
As silent as a cat, but
The mayor’s son was waiting there,
A gun stuck in his hat.

“O gentleman of highwaymen, ”
Said he of noble birth, “Now
Your life is mine to end it here,
O ye of little worth.”

The highwayman, he laughed, he did,
As gun the young man drew, “O
You know not why I came tonight,
But it was not for you.

My fair one needs a wedding ring
To grace her pretty hand, and
I tend to have the finest jewel
Created in this land.”

The son, he cocked the pistol, and
As trigger pulled, he swore, “O
Ye gentleman of highwaymen,
Your heart shall beat no more.”

…

The roads at night are quiet now
With no one riding forth, and
The mayor’s son is dead and gone,
So tragically cut short.

The city breathes much easier
Since now they have no shame, no more
Gentleman of highwaymen
On whom to place the blame.

Katrina, she did move away, for
Naught now held her there, for
Her gentleman of highwaymen
Had vanished in the air.

Her door she watches every night,
Her smile doth grace the land, as
She waits for someone and she twists
The ring upon her hand.

And if you listen, in her town,
You still can hear him ride, for
He wears Katrina’s golden brooch
With bullet still inside.