The summer day was spoiled with fitful storm; At night the wind died and the soft rain dropped; With lulling murmur, and the air was warm, And all the tumult and the trouble stopped.
Friends I have had both old and young, And ale we drank and songs we sung: Enough you know when this is said, That, one and all, they died in bed. In bed they died and Ill not go Where all my friends have perished so.