Well met, well met, my own true love
My angel, pray come with me, 
I've just return'd from the salt, salt sea, 
All for the love of thee.

If you want me to come with you, my dear, 
It would make me so very sad, 
For I am married to a house carpenter, 
And I find him a nice young lad.

Ah, will you forsake your husband, dear, 
And go along with me?
I'll take you where the grass grows green, 
By the banks of the salt, salt sea.

Well, I'd not been gone but about two weeks, 
I know it was not three, 
When I, poor lady, began to weep, 
I wept most bitterly.

Ah, why do you weep, my fair young maid?
Why are you so sad and heart-sore?
Oh, do you weep for your house carpenter, 
Who never you shall see anymore?

Well, I'd not been gone but about three weeks, 
I'm sure it was not four, 
Our gallant ship sprang a leak and sank, 
Never to rise any more.

What hills, what hills are these, my love, 
That rise so fair and high?
These are the hills of Heaven, my love, 
But not for you and I.

And what hills, what hills are those, my love, 
Those hills so dark and low?
Those are the hills of Hell, my love, 
Where you and I must go.