When I got on Wednesday morning,
not I consecrated m'éadan, alas,
As I took the weapon to the most difficult,
and I have a mouth with leading edge stone.

I threw my clothes for me,
and my good sense I wind,
is when I heard my sweetheart profile,
ORU, I splash at the joint of the index finger.

People say I'm sick sporadically,
is not relieved by getting diagnosed my illness,
Since I put my interest in the maiden,
has lived on the White Mountain brow.

Her waist is brighter than the swan,
Or the blowing snow about high,
is the most honey rose a face,
a woman I did not see any better.

It’s a long time my feet are unshod
It’s along time my pockets are without pennies,
It’s along time I've been drinking with young women,
But I never had a drink with my dear.

Long my heart has been broken for
And my thumba being printed free,
My tombstone built spring day,
these fine young men going under.

If I was seven years underground,
Or feverish on a bed in my lie,
sweetheart, if I would come and ask,
not as I would you awake.

Oh, pity that my father was not dead,
when he put me into the King,
is that it is the grave of my hard dying future,
and sweetheart, not pity my dying.

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