There is actually a rather old poem titled " The Highwayman". I'm thinking the first two verses kind of sum up our Highwayman.
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the Highwayman came riding-riding-riding
The Highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
(this part kills me)
He'd a French cocked hat on his forhead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet and breeches of brown doe skin,
They fitted with never a wrinkle, his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, his pistol butts a'twinkle,
His rapier hilt a'twinkle, under the jeweled sky.\
Now folks, somebody that dresses like that and all that twinkling going on, needs our sympathy. I think he probably still lives with his Mom and she dresses him. If we dressed like that we would, more than likely, be twinkling all over the place.
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the Highwayman came riding-riding-riding
The Highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
(this part kills me)
He'd a French cocked hat on his forhead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet and breeches of brown doe skin,
They fitted with never a wrinkle, his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, his pistol butts a'twinkle,
His rapier hilt a'twinkle, under the jeweled sky.\
Now folks, somebody that dresses like that and all that twinkling going on, needs our sympathy. I think he probably still lives with his Mom and she dresses him. If we dressed like that we would, more than likely, be twinkling all over the place.