Classic Poem

He came to his love's window at the dead of the night.
He called her his jewel, his own heart's delight.
"Now since you've shot the arrow you're the one who can cure,
And if you won't have me I'll die at your door.
And it's oh, my hard fortune."

"Begone, little drummer," this fair one did say,
"Would I be so mean as to marry with thee?
My father's a squire of a high degree
And I am his daughter and heiress to be,
And it's oh, my hard fortune!"

He turned to the door and he bade her farewell,
Saying, "You'll send my soul wandering to heaven or hell;
On the point of my bayonet I will end all this strife
And cut the sweet innocent thread of my life.
And it's oh, my hard fortune!"

"Come back, little drummer," this fair one did say,
"Come back, little drummer, and marry with me.
Turn back, little drummer, marry me if you will,
For I think it a pity your blood for to spill,
And it's oh, my hard fortune!

"Come saddle a steed and to Plymouth we'll go,
Where we will be married in spite of our foes,
And when we are married and all things are done,
What more can they say than we followed the drum?
And it's oh, my hard fortune."

Now when her old father this news came to hear
It's straightway to Plymouth he quickly did steer,
He took them both home and to them he did give
Five thousand a year as long as they lived,
And it's oh, my good fortune.