- She served them up, she served them down, She served them up with wine, But still she drank the clear spring water, To keep her color fine.
- 'I must get up, she must sit down, She must sit in my place, Or else be torn by wild horses And thrown over the gates.'
- 'You wont get up, she wont sit down, She wont sit in your place, Nor yet be torn by wild horses, Nor thrown over the gates.'
- She called up her seven sons, By one, by two, by three: 'I wish you were all seven gray-hounds, This night to worry me.'
- 'What ails you, fair Ellen? what ails you, fair? Or why do you sigh and moan?' 'The hoops are off my wine hogsheads, And my wine is overflown.'
No: 62; variant: 62G
Source: Communicated by Miss Margaret Reburn, as current in County Meath, Ireland, 1860-70.