Once my wheel ran cheerily round,
  Ran cheerily round from day to day,
But now it drags how wearily round;
  For Owen's gone away.
Once I spun soft carolling O,
  Soft carolling O! from morn to eve,
But since we started quarrelling, oh!
  'Tis silently I weave.

Has he joined Sir Arthur, ochone!
  Sir Arthur, ochone! to fight the French? 
Though he was rude, I'd rather, ochone!
  He joined me on this bench. 
Hush ! he's been deluthering you,
  Deluthering you with swords and drums, 
And now I think 'tis soothering you,
  'Tis soothering you, he comes.