At the humble heart that he did not prize;
And it tells how she begged, with downcast eyes,
For the love of a merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!
Both. Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me—lackadaydee!
His pains were o'er, and he sighed no more,
For he lived in the love of a ladye!