She was a pretty little gosling,
And a gay young gosling he;
And "I love you," he said, "so dearly;"
And "I love you too," said she.
But "alas! we must part, "He whispered,
"I'm off to the world so wide;
But love, don't fear,
I'll come next year,
And make you my little bride?"

'Twas Michaelmas day at morning,
That he came home once more,
He met his true love's mother,
And oh! she was weeping sore.
"Too late, you've come," she whispered,
"They've taken your love a-way,
She never will be your bride, ah, me!
For she's going to be cooked today!"

Then up he went to the farm house:
"Where is my love?" he said;
But the farm-er's wife,
she seized a knife,
And cut off his little head.
And she served him up With his true love,
On a dish so deep and wide,
So though in life they were part-ed,
a death they were side by side.