One day we were talking in the garden, fine and gay,
A viewing of the flowers that grew so fine and gay,
The gold ring on her finger, as I was passing by,
She slipped into my pocket and for it I must die.
My mistress swore I'd robbed her and quickly I was brought
Before a grave old justice to answer for my fault,
Long time I pleaded innocent but that was all in vain,
She swore point blank against me and I was sent to jail.
Then our royal assizes were drawing on apace,
Presently on me the judge a sentence past,