This text comes from A Shropshire Lad, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
'Here the hangman stops his cart:
Now the best of friends must part.
Fare you well, for ill fare I:
Live, lads, and I will die.
'Oh, at home had I but stayed
'Prenticed to my father's trade,
Had I stuck to plane and adze,
I had not been lost, my lads.
'Then I might have built perhaps
Gallows-trees for other chaps,
Never dangled on my own,
Had I but left ill alone.
'Now, you see, they hang me high,
And the people passing by
Stop to shake their fists and curse;
So 't is come from ill to worse.
'Here hang I, and right and left
Two poor fellows hang for theft:
All the same 's the luck we prove,
Though the midmost hangs for love.
'Comrades all, that stand and gaze,
Walk henceforth in other ways;
See my neck and save your own:
Comrades all, leave ill alone.
'Make some day a decent end,
Shrewder fellows than your friend.
Fare you well, for ill fare I:
Live, lads, and I will die.'