The fair maid sits at the foot of the tower,
And weeps and moans and heaves with great grief.

Her father asks: daughter what is wrong
Do you want a husband or do you want a lord.

I do not want a husband, I do not want a lord,
I want my beloved who languishes in the tower.

By heaven, my dear daughter, you shall not have him
For tomorrow he is to be hanged at dawn.

Father, if they hang him, bury me beneath
So people will say these were loyal lovers.