Young man comes from hunting faint and weary \"What does ail my lord, my dearie?\" \"O Mother dear, let my bed be made For I feel the gripe of the woody nightshade.\" Lie low sweet Randal chorus: Now you young men all who do eat full well And they that sup right merry 'Tis far better, I entreat, To have toads for your meat Than to eat of the wild, wild berry
This young man he died eftsoon By the light of a hunters' moon 'Twas not by bolt, nor yet by blade But the deathly gripe of the woody nightshade Lie low sweet Randal (chorus)
This lord's false love, they hanged her high For her deeds were the cause of her love to die And in her hair they entwined a braid Of the leaves and the berries of the woody nightshade Lie low sweet Randal