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Amid the vale grow mother-worts,
They are withered and dry.
There’s a woman her lord deserts,
O hear her sigh!
O hear her sigh!
Her lord’s a faithless guy.
Amid the vale grow mother-worts,
They are scorched and dry.
There’s a woman her lord deserts.
O hear her cry!
O hear her cry!
She has met a bad guy.
Amid the vale grow mother-worts,
They are now drowned and wet.
There’s a woman her lord deserts.
See her tears jet!
See her tears jet!
It’s too late to regret.