Henry, Henry, do you love me?
     Do I love you, Mary?
     Oh, can you mean to liken me
     To the aspen tree.
     Whose leaves do shake and vary,
     From white to green
     And back again,
     Shifting and contrary?

     Henry, Henry, do you love me,
     Do you love me truly?
     Oh, Mary, must I say again
     My love's a pain,
     A torment most unruly?
     It tosses me
     Like a ship at sea
     When the storm rages fully.

     Henry, Henry, why do you love me?
     Mary, dear, have pity!
     I swear, of all the girls there are
     Both near and far,
     In country or in city,
     There's none like you,
     So kind, so true,
     So wise, so brave, so pretty.

     Though I am an old man
       With my bones very brittle,
     Though I am a poor old man
       Worth very little,
     Yet I suck at my long pipe
       At peace in the sun,
     I do not fret nor much regret
       That my work is done.

     If I were a young man
       With my bones full of marrow,
     Oh, if I were a bold young man
       Straight as an arrow,
     And if I had the same years
       To live once again,
     I would not change their simple range
       Of laughter and pain.

     If I were a young man
       And young was my Lily,
     A smart girl, a bold young man,
       Both of us silly.
     And though from time before I knew
       She'd stab me with pain,
     Though well I knew she'd not be true,
       I'd love her again.

     If I were a young man
       With a brisk, healthy body,
     Oh, if I were a bold young man
       With love of rum toddy,
     Though I knew that I was spiting
       My old age with pain,
     My happy lip would touch and sip
       Again and again.

     If I were a young man
       With my bones full of marrow,
     Oh, if I were a bold young man
       Straight as an arrow,
     I'd store up no virtue
       For Heaven's distant plain,
     I'd live at ease as I did please
       And sin once again.

     Dust in a cloud, blinding weather,
       Drums that rattle and roar!
     A mother and daughter stood together
       Beside their cottage door.

     "Mother, the heavens are bright like brass,
       The dust is shaken high,
     With labouring breath the soldiers pass,
       Their lips are cracked and dry."

     "Mother, I'll throw them apples down,
       I'll bring them pails