And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Alfred Noyes wrote it, btw.
Back he spurred like a madman,shrieking a curse to the sky
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high
Blood red were his spurs i' the golden noon;wine red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down on the highway, down like a dog on the highway!
And he lay in his blood on the highway with a bunch of lace at his throat
Hopefully a little closer to my original attempt.