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My tale is old, it first was told, too many years to tell
When men revered the Fairie folk and feared the fires of Hell
Young Edward Godwin feared no man, a bold young blade was he
Apprenticed then for seven long years to the alchemist at Leigh

It fell upon Midsummer Night that Edward chanced upon
A jewel encrusted leather book when his master had gone;
The pages were of vellum wrought, the ink faded and old;
The tale within, a tale of sin and hidden faerie gold

And there’s weeping for the teary-o
And no rest for the weary-o
Ghosts and whigmaleerie-os
And more than man can tell

To Spengler’s Hill he soon set forth, traversing 'cross the land,
The book within his satchel and a spade within his hand;
A candle in his pocket, a tinderbox there too,
As midnight struck its doleful bell the hill came into view

All night his spade cut into earth, all night his sweat did flow,
Till just as dawn began to break his eyes became aglow
The glint of gold was everywhere, the book had spoken true;
Twas then ten thousand horsemen, armed and angry, came in view.

And there’s weeping for the teary-o
And no rest for the weary-o
Ghosts and whigmaleerie-os
And more than man can tell

Edward was then surrounded and a horseman said to he,
'I am the King of Faerieland and you must come with me.’
Young Edward begged and cried aloud, 'Forgive my foolish greed!’
But the stone-faced King of Faerieland was deaf to all his pleads.

It fell upon Midsummer Night Edward was seen no more,
Though townsfolk searched both high and low where he’d been seen before
And as the years all followed on and tender trees grew tall,
It soon became forgotten that he’d ever lived at all

And there’s weeping for the teary-o
And no rest for the weary-o
Ghosts and whigmaleerie-os
And more than man can tell