For our burdensomest cares were,

“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”

Ah, my boy, you haven’t forgotten

How with wooden men we pounded

Them when green till almost rotten

Just to get the juice out? Sounded

Mighty tempting with that wine in

There just squushing for the skin to

Burst and let us both fall into

“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”