Thro’ by the Saiby Syke,
And o’er the moss and the mire,
I’ll go to see my lass,
Who lives in Hexhamshire.
Her father lov’d her well,
Her mother lov’d her better;
I love the lass mysel’,
But, alas! I cannot get her.
Thro’ by, &c.
Oh, this love, this love!