I'm left all alone like a stone at the side of the street,
With no kind "good day" on the way from the many I meet.
Still with looks cold and high they go by, not one brow now unbends,
None holds out his hand of the hand of my fair-weather friends.

They help'd me to spend to its end all my fine shining store,
They drank to my health and my wealth till both were no more.
And now they are off with a scoff as they leave me behind,
"When you've ate the rich fruit, underfoot with the bare bitter rind."

There's rest deep and still on yon hill by our old chapel side,
Where I laid you long ago in my woe, my young one year's bride.
Then ochone! for relief from my grief into madness I flew.
Would to God ere that day in the clay I'd been cover'd with you.