Played slowly and methodically.
C# B C#
Young man comes from hunting faint and weary
C# B C#
“What does ail my lord, my dearie?”
C# B C#
“O Mother dear, let my bed be made
E F# E C#
For I feel the gripe of the woody nightshade.
[chorus]
C# B F# C#
Now you young men all who do eat full well
E F#
And they that sup right merry
C# B
‘Tis far better, I entreat,
F# C#
To have toads for your meat
A Bb F# C#
Than to eat of the wild, wild berry
C# B C#
This young man he died eftsoon
C# B C#
By the light of a hunters’ moon
C# B C#
‘Twas not by bolt, nor yet by blade
E F# E C#
But the deathly gripe of the woody nightshade
[chorus]
C# B C#
This lord’s false love, they hanged her high
C# B C#
For her deeds were the cause of her love to die
C# B C#
And in her hair they entwined a braid
E F# E C#
Of the leaves and the berries of the woody nightshade
