The loss of my wandherin’ sowl!
Och hone! wirrasthrue!
Och hone, like an owl,
Day is night, dear, to me, without you!
Och hone! don’t provoke me to do it;
For there’s girls by the score
That love me—and more;
And you’d look very quare if some morning you’d meet
My wedding all marchin’ in pride down the sthreet;
Throth, you’d open your eyes,