  They have killed the gallant youth, For his sixty florins white, In the Tizta they have thrown him, For his stallion bay and bright. The Tizta would not keep him ' In its waves nor let him float, On the strand a fisher found him And took him into his boat. His mother came to wake him, But her voice he could not hear, "Rise up, rise up, my gallant son, Your mother's heart is here." His father came to wake him, But his voice he could not hear, Rise up, rise up, my gallant son, Your father's house is near." His sweetheart came to wake him, But her voice he could not hear, "Rise up, rise up, my rosemary, Clasp my neck with arms so dear." "Oh, tell me, will you make me A coffin of walnut bright?" "My darling, I will make you A coffin of marble white." " Oh, tell me, will you robe me In a shroud of lawn's fine stitch?" "My darling, I will robe you In a shroud of velvet rich." "Oh, tell me, if my coffin new You 'll trim with nails of brass?" "My darling, on your coffin new Gold nails shall be thick as grass." "Oh, tell me, will you lay me In the graveyard's grassy glade?" "My darling, I will lay you In my own rose garden's shade." "Oh, tell me, will you mourn me, With three maids to see your tears? " '
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