Upon the yonder Yorkshire hill

Lies a doe-eyes dame

She sits there silent and very still

Whilst the wind calls out her name

This lovely little lady

By the name of Marianne

Was secretly very crazy

For a very "special" man

This lad of youth and envied strength

Was sadly very vained

He'd speak of himself to such great lengths

His voice became quite strained

Poor pretty Marianne

Was painfully crazed

The Devil Himself didn't damn her

For she made her own mistake

The man of whom we speak of

Goes by the name of Henry Pierce

To think of you; he's much above

Because his conceit was very fierce

One day the pretty girl

Went up to the good old Friar

She said to him, "Oh, monsieur!

My heart burns with the desire!"

The good old man of God's faith

Did not find this very proper

"Now, young lass, you cannot make

Him want you," he cruelly mocked her

Marianne shrank away

The love still burning in her heart

Her feelings for Henry, nothing could sway

She would allow nothing to keep them apart!

So there she was, devising a plan

To make the clueless fool all hers

For what is a woman without a man?

And for the ache in a chest, a cure?

Alas, it was never meant to be

This hopeless infatuation

Henry went out for there were sights to see

Into a different nation

It was told after that, many years later

Henry found himself a bride

There was a dragon involved but Henry had saved her

The youthful madame to be his wife

Marianne sank into a pit of despair

Upon the top of that lonesome hill

Of herself she could never care

Of herself she could never kill

So upon the yonder Yorkshire hill

Marianne will always remain

Laying quietly and very still

She has never escaped the pain.