Two score and ten since then, when

Wine poured ‘neath a rose-riddled heath, 

The leaves of gold told us we’d grow old,

In the moist, green day, our love we’d pay, 

To each other, for one another, on nuptial day. 

Hither came the women,

And drunken-faced men;

O! how they howled, harassed us heathens.

We had gave no notice, nought did we say.

They cried, “Fie, you art fey;

If not to us, then you’ll part, pay

No love but to us, to us!

We’ll wring out your necks!”

But we scampered away.

So I loved ye for years, and betwixt sad and glad tears,

The boy you bore, Bill; he saw how ‘gainst their will,

We had left. At first but jest, and we loved despite his pest.

Else could we have done? when he chose to run,

And drank in the streets, died strung by his sheets.

So we’d cry everlong,

That our dear Bill was gone.

O! how in the chambers of peace and posterity withdrawn, 

Shone brighter your face, flow’rs of nuptial place, wilted but gleaming greenery.

But your heart was weary.

So I will lay everyday lonely, 

Weep by the two mounds,

And wish for the days

When I loved ye.