“Well met, well met, my own true love, “Well met, well met,” cried he. “I’ve just returned from the salt, salt sea, And it’s all for the love of thee.”

“I could have married the king’s daughter fair She would have married me But I have forsaken her crown of gold And it’s all for the love of thee.”

If you could have married a king’s daughter fair I’m sure you are to blame For I am married to a house carpenter And I’m sure he’s a fine young man.

Forsake, forsake your house carpenter And come along with me. I’ll take you where the green grass grows On the shores of Italy.

I have seven ships upon the sea The eighth brought me to land With four and twenty bold sailors And music on every hand

Then she picked up her little babe And gave it kisses three Saying “Fair you well, my own little babe, For I’ll never see you again.”

She set her foot upon the ship No sailors could she behold But the sails were made of taffeta And the masts of beaten gold.

They had but sailed about a week I’m sure it was not two When dismal grew his countenance And darkened grew his eye

They had but sailed about two weeks I’m sure it was not three Until she spied his cloven foot And she wept bitterly

Then a curse, a curse to the sailor she cried A curse, a curse she swore “You’ve robbed me of my house carpenter Whose face I’ll never see no more.”

“O hold your tongue of weeping,” says he, Of your weeping now let me be. I will show you how the lilies grow On the banks of Italy.”

“What hills are they, those pleasant hills That the sun shines sweetly on?” “O those are the hills of heaven,” he said, “Where you will never walk.”

“O what a mountain is there,” she said, “So dreary with frost and snow?” “O that is the mountain of hell,” he cries, “Where you and I must go.”

He struck the top mast with his hand The fore-mast with his knee And he broke that gallant ship in two And sank her in the sea.