TILLIE

Old Tillie Turveycombe

Sat to sew,

Just where a patch of fern did grow;

There, as she yawned,

And yawn wide did she,

Floated some seed

Down her gull-e-t;

And look you once,

And look you twice,

Poor old Tillie

Was gone in a trice.

But oh, when the wind

Do a-moaning come,

‘ Tis poor old Tillie

Sick for home;

And oh, when a voice

In the mist do sigh,

Old Tillie Turveycombe's

Floating by.