My lover is far, far at sea.
On a billow, billow, billow.
Ah, Theodore, would thou could'st be,
On my pillow, pillow, pillow!
Here she heaved a deep sigh, when, to her utter astonishment, a voice, as if from a chamber underneath; took up the tune with these words:
SONG
Alas, well-a-day, woe to me,
Singing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow;
A ducat would soon make me free,
Could I borrow, borrow, borrow;