As I was walking all alone, I heard twa corbies makin mane; And one unto the other did say, "Where shall we gang and dine today?"
"Oh behind that foul black dyke, There lies the body of a fresh slain knight; And nobody knows that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound and his lady fair."
"His hound is to the hunting gone, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl home, His lady's laying with another, So we may make our dinner sweet."
"You sit on his white chest bone, And I'll pick out his bonny blue eyes; With a lock of his golden hair We'll thatch our nest where it grows bare.
"Many a one for him makes mane, But nobody knows where he has gone; Through his white bones, when they are bare, The wind shall blow for evermore."