From The Yeomen of the Guard
] Oh, thoughtless crew! Ye know not what ye do! Attend to me, and shed a tear or two - For I have a song to sing, O!
] Sing me your song, O!
It is sung to the moon By a love-lorn loon, Who fled from the mocking throng, O? It's the song of a merryman, moping mum, Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum, Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb, As he sighed for the love of a ladye!