Old Tillie Turveycombe Sat To Sew, Just Where A Patch Of Fern Did Grow; There, As She Yawned, And Yawn Wide Did She, Floated Some Seed Down Her Gull-E-T; And Look You Once, And Look You Twice, Poor Old Tillie Was Gone In A Trice. But Oh, When The Wind Do A-Moaning Come, 'Tis Poor Old Tillie Sick For Home; And Oh, When A Voice In The Mist Do Sigh, Old Tillie Turveycombe'S Floating By.