She was a pretty little gosling
And a gay young gosling he
And “I love you,” he said, “so dearly;”
And “I love you too,” said she.
“But alas! we must part,” he whispered
“I’m off to the world so wide
But love, don’t fear,
I’ll come next year,
And make you my little bride?”

‘Twas Michaelmas day at morning
That he came home once more
He met his true love’s mother
And oh! she was weeping sore
“Too late, you’ve come,” she whispered
“They’ve taken your love away
She never will be your bride, ah, me!
For she’s going to be cooked today!”

Then up he went to the farm house
“Where is my love?” he said
But the farmer’s wife
she seized a knife
And cut off his little head
And she served him up with his true love
On a dish so deep and wide
So though in life they were parted
At death they were side by side