Oh, hearken to my tale of woe, a song of dismal fate;
A story just as sad as one a beggar might relate;
A tragedy as full of tears as any told to date;
Oh, hearken to my tale of woe — before it’s all too late!

I used to be a single man whose life was fancy-free;
I’d spend my days a-writing songs, or doing heraldry;
My nights were always spent at home, alone invariably;
I used to be a simple man — but now, just look at me!

I met a lass, a wench, a maid (or none of the above);
Where fate might nudge another man, to me it gave a shove!
I tried my hardest to deny, she fit me like a glove;
I met a lass, a wench, a maid — and cursed was I by love!

My listener may well expect it wouldn’t be so long
Before a fellow in my shoes would sing a happy song;
My reasons to be cheery must be showing, clear and strong;
My listener may well expect as much — and you’d be wrong!

I’ll tell you what the trouble is; I’m sure you’ll not believe:
It’s minstrelsong and heraldry, the blazon and the breve;
The arts that used to fill my days, the feats I’d then achieve;
I’ll tell you what the trouble is — and how I come to grieve.

My lady now consumes my days with kisses and with sighs;
I have no time for paint or pen: she’ll brook no compromise!
I spend my days (oh woe!) in bliss, my nights as well, likewise;
My lady now consumes my days — will no man sympathise?