Hard by ye lake, beneath ye shade,
Upon a somer's daye,
There ben a faire Chicago maid
That greeting sore did saye:
I wonder where can Willie bee—
O waly, waly! woe is mee!
He fared him off on Aprille 4,
And now 'tis August 2,
I stood upon ye slimy shoore
And swere me to be trewe;