Old Tillie Turveycombe

Old Tillie Turveycombe
Sat to sew,
Just where a patch of fern did grow;

There, as she yawned,
And yawn wide did she,
Floated some seed

Down her gull-e-t;
And look you once,
And look you twice,

Poor old Tillie
Was gone in a trice.
But oh, when the wind

Do a-moaning come,
'Tis poor old Tillie
Sick for home;

And oh, when a voice
In the mist do sigh,
Old Tillie Turveycombe's
Floating by.


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