Ripe, the plums fall from the bough;
Only seven-tenths left there now!
Ye whose hearts on me are set,
Now the time is fortunate!
Ripe, the plums fall from the bough;
Only three-tenths left there now!
Ye who wish my love to gain,
Will not now apply in vain!
No more plums upon the bough!
All are in my basket now!
Ye who me with ardor seek,
Need the word but freely speak!
