Make no more pretence to me—
For you love me, I’m afraid!”
“Drive your plough ahead, and go;
Underneath it thistles grow.
You are reckless, young, and wild—
She is mad would wed you so!”
“Near your house a field I’ll sow
And I’ll stone the ill-starred crow.
When I have the girl I love
I’ll let all my folly go.”