She caried a child in her arms,
Another, by the hand, she led,
And in her walk, looks and clothes,
Poverty and grief, could be read.

She stumbled across the market,
And facing each other we stood,
She looked at me and then I spoke
With pain, as calmly as I could:

Come with me to my dwelling,
You look so ill and pale indeed,
Through hard work, I shall provide
All the drink and food you may need.

And I shall also take good care
Of those children who are with you,
But above all, unhappy child,
I shall attend to you too.

And I'll not vex you by telling
How badly for you I did crave,
And when you die, I shall go
Bitterly weeping on your grave.