Oh, I’d been better dying,
;;Oh, I was slow and sad;
A fool I was, a-crying
;;About a cruel lad!
But there was one that found me,
;;That wept to see me weep,
And had his arm around me,
;;And gave me words to keep.
And I’d be better dying,
And I am slow and sad;
A fool I am, a-crying
About a tender lad!