Copyright © 2001 by Paul Howarth
All Rights Reserved

A weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine,
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine,
To press the rue for wine!
A lightsome eye, a soldiers mien,
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green
No more of me you knew.
My love! My love!
No more of me you knew.
No more of me you knew my love,
No more of me you knew.

This morn is merry June I trow,
The rose is budding fain;
But she shall bloom in winter snow
Ere we two meet again, ere we two meet again.
He turned his charger as he spake
Upon the river shore
He gave his bridle reins a shake,
Said "Adieu for evermore,
My love! My love!
Adieu for evermore.
Adieu for evermore my love,
Adieu for evermore."

Vocal Line

By Arthur Sullivan
Generated by NoteWorthy Composer

A Weary Lot is Thine
Lyrics
Vocal
Right Hand
Left Hand