Snip and snap and snip again!
my shears by candlelight
shall cut a song of love and loss
from linen snowy white.

The story long ago began
(my needle tells it fair),
I was a young and foolish cur
with haughtiness to spare.
But even hearts so full of pride
as was the one in me,
may find themselves made vassals of
the love of ladies sweet.

My mistress was as bright as day,
a yellow-feathered trill,
as fair and lovely, wager I,
as she who bewitched Xyl.
Her only fault, or so it seemed,
was poverty of purse,
but to me this was the worst of sins---
an unforgivable curse.

She loved me well, my yellow bird,
and would have pleased me much,
but all my lust was taken up
by lucre's toxic touch.
I could not give her back the love
that she had given me;
this broke her heart, but anger rose:
my fool she would not be.

"Your heart is false,"
she said one day,
her blue eyes filled with tears,
"you’re true to naught but gold."
"’Tis better to be true to gold,"
said I, with arrogance,
"where it will shine forever,
your fleeting beauty stands no chance."

At that, her tears they disappeared,
her blue eyes froze like ice,
and calmly, slowly, spoke the words
that hold my future like a vise.
"I curse your haughty face," she said.
"Your hateful purse, your hateful wealth
will slip away from you,
and all you’ll have is health."

I laughed at her, and sent her out,
and counted out my coins---
but what was this! my fortune gone,
by thieves it was purloined.
No scheme of mine could win it back,
no diligence accrue,
no luck had I in business now,
and mended clothes for food.

Oh woe is me, poor tailor, I,
now barely kept in bread!
I tried to profit off of love,
but paid the price instead.
Oh, snip and snap and snip again!
my shears by candlelight
shall cut a song of love and loss
from linen snowy white!