They prated of mischief and evil, And mournfully shook their head; They liken’d poor me to the devil, And thou didst believe what they said.
But, O; the worst and the saddest, Of this they nothing knew; The saddest and the maddest In my heart was hidden from view.
The linden blossom’d, the nightingale sung, The sun was laughing with radiance bright; Thou kissed’st me then, while thine arm round me clung, To thy heaving bosom thou pressed’st me tight.
The raven was screeching, the leaves fast fell, The sun gazed cheerlessly down on the sight; We coldly said to each other “Farewell!” Thou politely didst make me a curtsey polite.
We have felt for each other emotions soft, And yet our tempers always were matching, At “man and wife” we have play’d full oft, And yet ne’er took to fighting and scratching. We have shouted together, together been gay, And tenderly kiss’d and fondled away. At last we play’d in forest and dell At hide and seek, like sister and brother. And managed to hide ourselves so well, That never since then have we seen each other.
I’ve no belief in the heavens Of which the parsons rave; In thine eyes believe I only, In their heavenly light I lave.
I’ve no belief in the Maker Of whom the parsons rave; In thine heart believe I only, No other God will I have.
I’ve no belief in the devil, In hell or the pains of hell; In thine eyes believe I only, And thine evil heart as well.
To me thou wert faithful and steady, And madest for me supplication; In my troubles and sad tribulation Thy comfort always was ready.
Food and drink thou gav’st me in payment, And plenty of money didst lend me, And also a passport didst send me, As well as some changes of raiment.
From heat and from coldness unpleasant May heaven, my dear one, long guard thee, And may it never reward thee The kindness shown me at present!
The earth had long been avaricious, But May, when she came, gave with great prodigality, And all things now smile with rapture delicious, But I for laughter have no partiality.
The blue bells are ringing, their beauty displaying, The birds, as in fables, talk sentimentality; I take no pleasure in all they are saying, And I am quite wretched in sober reality.
All men I detest, and now cannot meet one, Not even my friend, with the least cordiality, And this all because my amiable sweet one They “madam” entitle, with chilling formality.