4
Now forlorn, and broken hearted,
And with frenzied thoughts beset,
On that spot where last we parted—
On that spot where first we met,
Still I sing my love-lorn ditty—
Still I slowly pace the plain,
While each passer-by, in pity,
Cries—God help thee, Crazy Jane.
And with frenzied thoughts beset,
On that spot where last we parted—
On that spot where first we met,
Still I sing my love-lorn ditty—
Still I slowly pace the plain,
While each passer-by, in pity,
Cries—God help thee, Crazy Jane.
THE MILLER OF DRON.
There was a miller stout and strong,
Fed up with beef and brose,
With sturdy limbs, and shoulders broad,
As you may well suppose.
This miller was as great a loon
As ever hung a stone;
He took his muter different ways—
This miller liv'd in Dron.
Fed up with beef and brose,
With sturdy limbs, and shoulders broad,
As you may well suppose.
This miller was as great a loon
As ever hung a stone;
He took his muter different ways—
This miller liv'd in Dron.
With my heesy, teesy, soft and easy,
Ay the mill gets on;
You may get millers many a one,
But no one like him in Dron.
Ay the mill gets on;
You may get millers many a one,
But no one like him in Dron.
