Misery me—lackadaydee!
He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!
He. I have a song to sing, O!
She. Sing me your song, O!
He. It is sung to the knell
Of a churchyard bell,
And a doleful dirge, ding dong, O!
It's a song of a popinjay, bravely born,
Who turned up his noble nose with scorn