When the lad for longing sighs
Mute and dull of cheer and pale
If at death's own door he lies
Maiden, you can heal his ail

Lovers' ills are all to buy:
The wan look, the hollow tone
The hung head, the sunken eye
You can have them for your own

Buy them, buy them: eve and morn
Lovers' ills are all to sell
Then you can lie down forlorn;
But the lover will be well