Bring me to the blasted oak

    That I， midnight upon the stroke，

    （All find safety in the tomb.）

    May call down curses on his head

    Because of my dear Jack¹ that‘s dead.

    Coxcomb² was the least he said：

    The solid man and the coxcomb.

    Nor was he Bishop³ when his ban

    Banished⁴ Jack the Journeyman，

    （All find safety in the tomb.）

    Nor so much as parish priest，

    Yet he， an old book in his fist，

    Cried that we lived like beast and beast：

    The solid man and the coxcomb.

    The Bishop has a skin， God knows，

    Wrinkled like the foot of a goose，

    （All find safety in the tomb.）

    Nor can he hide in holy black

    The heron‘s hunch⁵ upon his back，

    But a birch-tree stood my Jack：

    The solid man and the coxcomb.

    Jack had my virginity，

    And bids me to the oak， for he

    （All find safety in the tomb.）

    Wanders out into the night

    And there is shelter under it，

    But should that other come， I spit：

    The solid man and the coxcomb.

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