As haggeriwates me now.
Ah, yes! I’m weepin’ still—’weep ho!—
And likely to continner:
Not thinkin’ so to soothe my woe,
But trustin’ thus to win ’er.
Then say if I shall soot my love,
Oh, say if I shall soot ’er!
Hair from my grief
I seeks relief
In this ’ere pot of pewter.