~I've no Chickens on the hills nor cart on the road

~Nor any silver in me pouch to keep me awake

~Nor any Taters in me Garden, nor any fruit on me trees

~Yet the Hobbit lass of Michel Delving smiles sweetly on me.

~Rich Odo will tell you with eyes full of scorn

~Threadbare is my coat and my clothes are torn

~Scoff on me rich Odo, for faint is the delight

~When the Hobbit lass of Michel Delving smiles sweetly on me.

~The farmer rides proudly to market and fair

~And the clerk at the Bird and baby Inn still claims the great chair

~But of all our proud fellows, the proudest I'll be

~When the Hobbit lass of Michel Delving smiles sweetly on me.