Fly low, my turtle doves, fly low;
To right and left and form the double row.
And bend the knee in courtesy,
(There was a sometime prophesy)
Your turn sweet bach, Malindy, too.
(And some have thought it would come true,
That floods would some day higher swell
To sweep the valley where we dwell).
Sweet bachelor, prance down the lane,
And with you bring Malindy home again.