i tell you now, c.

the sweetest flower that deck'd the mead,

now trodden like the vilest weed—

let simple maid the lesson read

the weird may be her ain, jo.

i tell you now, c.

the bird that charm'd his summer day,

is now the cruel fowler's prey;

let witless, trusting, woman say

how aft her fate's the same, jo!

i tell you now, c.