"Oh! don't you see the turtle-dove
Sitting under yonder tree
Lamenting for her own true love?
And I will mourn for thee, my dear,
And I will mourn for thee."

"If you must suffer grief and pain, 
'Tis but for a little while;
For, though I go away, I'll return again,
If I row ten thousand mile, my dear,
If I row ten thousand mile!"

"Ten thousand mile is very far
For me to bide alone
With a heavy, heave sigh and a bitter, bitter cry;
No one to hear my moan, my dear,
No one to hear my moan."

"I may not stay your grievous moan,
Your pain I may not ease;
Yet I will love but thee alone
Till the streams run from the seas, my dear,
Till the streams run from the seas!"