All to keep her life till her dear mother came therein.
Come take the rings off my finger, the skin it is so white,
And give them to my mother dear, for she was all the ‘weight;’
Come take the rings off my fingers, the veins are so red,
Give them to sir William Fenwick, I’m sure his heart will bleed.
She took out a razor, that was sharp and fine,
And out of her left side she has taken the heir of Wallington,
There is a race in Wallington, and that I rue full sare,
Tho’ the cradle it be full spread up, the bride-bed is left bare.
