To think of my true love, young Huey Lenine.
Many a weary long hour I sit all alone in my bower,
Where I do nothing but pine,
Whilst I grieve all the day, and fret the night away,
To think of my true love, young Huey Lenine.
Would the devil but come at my call, and take the old Squire, silks, satins, and all,
With jewels and rings so fine;
Then merry and gay I’d work all the day, and pass the night away,
Kissing my true love, young Huey Lenine.
Another Cornish “Droll” is preserved, in part, as an example of the kind of doggerel verse in which many of those stories were told.