BALLAD. (Poor Orra tink of Yanko dear)

Poor Orra tink of Yanko dear, Do he be gone for ever, For he no dead, he still live here, And he from here go never.

Like on a sand me mark him face, De wave come roll him over, De mark him go, but still de place 'Tis easy to discover.

I see fore now de tree de flower, He droop like Orra, surely, And den by'm bye dere come a shower, He hold him head up purely:

And so some time me tink me die, My heart so sick, he grieve me, But in a lilly time me cry Good deal, and dat relieve me.