Long will I lie a-bed:
And when Childe Ronald lies by me,
'Twill be when I am dead.
"When I am cold and dead, sweethearts,
And song be turned to sigh—
No love of mine hath he, sweethearts,
And a wretched bride am I.
"A harper harped in the banquet hall;
An ancient man was he;
The song he sang was sweet to all,