I drafted a Halfbreed Scop with Endrhyme and Headrhyme

In the end,
Love is a whim, loave is the win.
Bond, to be gelith, is bound to be gelorn.
Glides the gold to gersome, gnides the gnast to glummen.

Tide, Ich beplighted; tore, Ich berighted.
Thee, Ich beheight; thorp, Ich benighed,
To see thee, turved to thwart and threep.

Hwere bist thee? Hwy bilkst me?
Hwy is that me hwo is in the mist?
Hwat is the reden? Hwen is the reftdom?
Hwy shearest our former mimmerings?
Hwere shrithest our forner mirthenings?

For years 'chave sworn, for yeemerlest we've shorn,
Thou dumpedst me, through dretching meels,
Where me who is jonless, there thee who is rueless.
By simble seeking gold, thy sirrow scantedst me.
Thou leasest me mid thy foken-love, thou leechst mine mathom mid flatter-word.

Evil wight, ever wike!!!

Tungswitch:
At last, love is apt to change. Those who take the shillings win in the end.
Relationship was meant to be a joining, but this, makes it doomed to be forsaken.
They hoard the properties into their treasure, and extinguish the sparkle of love into gloom.

Every time I risked, every trouble I settled,
You, I pleadged, to appraoch to the village to troth you.
To see you turned against me, opposition and accusation.

Where are you when I need you? Why do you lie to me?
Why am I the one who's been covered from all of this?
What is your reason? When will you begin stealing my properties?
Why clear our past?
Where had our happy memories go?

For years I have sworn, for all the hassles we've cut away
You dump me with your injurious verbose
When I become poor, you become mean to me
Everyday, constantly, taking money, your plan made me more and more poor.
You decieved me with your so-called "affection," you milked my deposit with your fake praisings.

Go to hell, wither to death.