  Over the mountain and over the moor, Hungry and weary I wander forlorn; My father is dead and my mother is poor, And she grieves for the days that will never return; Give me some food for my mother in charity, Give me some food and then I will be gone. Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity, Cold blows the wind and the night’s coming on. Call me not indolent beggar and bold enough, Fain would I learn both to knit and to sew; I’ve two little brothers at home, when they’re old enough, They will work hard for the gifts you bestow; Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity, Cold blows the wind, and the night’s coming on; Give me some food for my mother in charity, Give me some food, and then I will be gone. |
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