Siuil A Run
I wish I was on yonder hill,
'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill,
And till every tear would turn a mill,
I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel,
I'll sell my only spinning wheel,
To buy my love a sword of steel,
I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red
And the round the world I'll beg my bread,
Until my parents shall wish me dead,
But now my love has gone to France
To try his fortune to advance,
If he e'er comes back is but a chance,
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