How I wish my luck was better,
I am really feeling sore,
And my cup of sorrow’s flowing to the brim.
Though my sweetheart’s tall and slender,
With a dark and roguish eye,
And a blushing cheek that shames the blooming rose.
One more letter will I send her,
Then I’ll write a last good-bye,
And so bring my dream of pleasure to a close.
If she’s caught another lover,