Miles Weatherhill was a brisk young weaver
And at Todmorden he did dwell
He fell in love with a handsome maiden
The parson's servant, Sarah Bell
It was at Todmorden where these two were lovers
In the parson's house, all of to tell
And all in the world could be more constant
Than Miles Weatherhill and Sarah Bell
But they were parted, broken-hearted
Separated, were those lovers, far
Those constant lovers adored each other
And love will penetrate through iron bars
They would have married, sails were carried
They caused displeasure, as you shall hear
Miles was refused to meet his lover
She left Todmorden, Lancashire
She left her true love broken-hearted
And to her mother in York did go
And all the distance they were parted
Caused sorrow and grief and pain and woe
All through his sadness, Miles in madness
He made a deep and a solemn vow
Separated from his own true lover
He'd be revenged on Parson Plough
Four loaded pistols, a fit of frenzy
Miles through the vicarage went forthwith
And with the weapon he wounded the master
And he shot the maiden named Jane Smith
To the lady's chamber, raging anger
Bent on destruction, intent to kill
He took a poker and he beat her
Till crimson blood on the floor did spill
If Miles and Sarah had not been parted
Those in the grave would be living now
And Miles would not have died on the gallows
For slaying the servant and Parson Plough
At the early age of three-and-twenty
In the shades below where the worms do dwell
Come all you people and consider
Miles Weatherhill and Sarah Bell