Though love like the poplar doth lift its head high,
The top it may fade and the root it may die,
And they may have heart-aches that now live in joy,
But Heaven I'll leave to reward her.

When I saw my false love in the merry church stand,
With her ring on her finger and her love in her hand,
Smiling out in the joy of her houses and land,
My sighs I strove vainly to smother.

When my false love for dinner did dainties partake,
I sat me down also, but nothing could eat;
I thought her sweet company better than meat,
Although she was tied to another.

When my false love had gone to her bride bed at night,
My eyes filled with water which made double my sight;
I thought she was there when she'd bade us "Good night"
And her chair was put by till the morrow.

I drank to her joy with a tear on my face,
And the wine glass as usual I pushed on the space,
Nor knew she was gone till I looked at the place,
Such a fool was I made of by sorrow.

Now make me a bed in yon river so deep,
Let its waves be my mourners; nought living will weep,
And there let me lie and take a long sleep,
So adieu to my false love for ever.