A garden and in it an old apple tree,
Around which two children, a lassie turned three,
And t'other a lad of p'raps four and a half,
Are chasing each other whilst gaily they laugh.
The maiden soon tires of the circular race,
For vainly she follows the lad in the chase;
His stronger legs make it an unequal match,
And he merrily mocks all her efforts to catch,

Chorus: She cries, 'Tommy, stop!' but, 'Tum on Tate,' says he;
'I s'ant, 'tos I tant run no farther!' says she;
Then frowns and her temper, 'tis easy to see,
Has nigh reached the end of it's tether.
Then Katie breaks down with a plaintive boo-ooh!
Tom stops and the tears are in Tommy's eyes too!
She sobs, 'Oo don't luve me!' he says, 'Ess I do!'
And their heads nestle closer together!

A green lane and in it two fond lovers roam,
And paint, in loves ardor, their bright future home.
Next Sunday's their wedding' 'tis Tommy and Kate,
But now grown to manhood and woman's estate,
The sun has gone down far below the big hill,
Beneath which there murmurs the swift running rill;
The moon kissed the waters in manner sedate,
And force of example, Tom kisses young Kate.

Chorus: The man in the moon at the fond couple blinks,
Then very discreetly, behind a hill sinks,
Whilst gaily a star at their love-making winks,
And thinks, 'Well it's love-making weather.
His arm 'round her waste tells the tale of this bliss,
Then you hear the voices of both man and miss;
'You Mustn't!' 'I shall!' and then something goes on kiss!
And their heads nestle closer together!

A churchyard and in it a tiny babes grave;
An early wrecked vessel on lifes cruel wave.
Their twelve month old darling, their loved one their all,
Now gone from this Earth at the Mighty One's call,
A life of pure sunshine and joy has been theirs,
With smiling face meeting all trivial cares,
Till all hope was shattered and sped in a breath,
And life's sun o'ershadowed by cloud of death.

Chorus: There, in that God's acre, they stand, he and she,
The sun veils it's head as tho' in sympathy,
And buried the light of their life seems to be.
In that grave 'neath the wild growing heather.
The mother's tears fall o'er her babe now at rest,
The man clasps her tight to his sorrow-torn breast;
'Come, cheer up my darling, 'tis all for the best.'
And their heads nestle closer together!

Written and composed by Wal Pink & George Le Brunn - 1895
Performed by Vesta Tilley (1864-1952)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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