With amazement he sees, swing about in the breeze,
Already a ladder of ropes,
Up, up he has gone, the bird is flown,
“What is this on the ground?” quoth he;
“Oh it’s plain that she loves, here’s some gentleman’s gloves,
She is off, and it’s not with me.”
} Repeat.
For these gloves, these gloves,
They never belonged to me.
Of course you’d have thought he’d have followed and fought,