I
You ain't forgotten yet that night in May,
Down at the Welsh 'Arp, which is 'Endon way,
You fancied winkles and a pot of tea,
"Four 'alf" I murmured's "good enough for me."
"Give me a word of 'ope that I may win"—
You prods me gently with the winkle pin—
We was as 'appy as could be that day
Down at the Welsh 'Arp, which is 'Endon way.
Oh, 'Arriet I'm waiting, waiting for you my dear,
Oh, 'Arriet I'm waiting, waiting alone out here;
When that moon shall cease to shine,
False will be this 'eart of mine,
I'm bound to go on lovin' yer my dear; d'ye 'ear?