For Squires be Frequently secretly fond of each other (Remastered)

Verily, strange whims do haunt the Western wild, And many a swain doth feel what wit cannot name. The thorp looks askance at a soul so beguiled, Who dwelleth ‘twixt natures of master and dame. Aye, the village doth frown, and the elders repine, When a squire for his fellow feels a longing divine. I hold in my soul, and I’ll swear it on high, That within every man doth a woman reside; And within every dame, though she seemeth so shy, A stout manly voice doth in secret abide. A squire may vaunt of the maidens he’s won, And boast of the deeds that his passion hath done, But they who cry loudest to prove they are men Are oft those who yearn for their fellows again. Chorus For squires be frequently, secretly fond, Linked each to each in a brotherly bond. What thinkest thou then of the saddle and boot? 'Tis the trappings of love, though the tongue may be mute. Within every squire, though he’s girded for fight, Doth a lady long sore to step forth to the light. There is ever a soul who will dare to proclaim What others do whisper in shadows and fear; And commonly he is the first to be slain, Struck down to his grave by a sword or a spear. So use not a squire as a sister, I pray, Nor trifle with spirits that in him do play; For thou canst not mock, nor with cruelty tread, On the lady who slumbers in every squire’s head. Squires be frequently, secretly fond, (Tell me, what thinkest thou of the boots that they donned?) Many a gallant, in his heart’s heavy tether, Knows not why he pines for his brother-in-leather. Within every dame, a bold squire seeketh room, While within every squire, a fair lady doth bloom.