IF the song I have to sing
Is a dreary, gloomy thing,
I would rather silent be;
If I cannot sing of cheer,
I will never let you hear
Any song of dole from me.
Let no dirge escape my lips,
Rather song that gayly trips
Than a slow and mournful tone;
Let me sing a song of pleasure,
In a romping sort of measure,
But my woe I’ll bear alone.
