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The Song Book 5
Yea, quoth the maid, but when you grow You stand at hand at ev'ry blow, Of every man for to be seen, I marvel that you grow so green.
Though many one take flowers from me, And many a branch out of my tree; I have such store they will not be seen, For more and more my twigs grow green. But how, an they chance to cut thee down, And carry thy branches into the town ? Then they will never more be seen To grow again so fresh and green.
Though that you do it is no boot,
Although they cut me to the root,
Next year again I will be seen
To bud my branches fresh and green.
And you, fair maid, cannot do so;
For "when your beauty once does go"
Then will it never more be seen,
As I with my branches can grow green.
The maid with that began to blush, And turn'd her from the hawthorn bush; She thought herself so fair and clean, Her beauty still would ever grow green.
****** But after this never I could hear, Of this fair maiden anywhere, That ever she was in forest seen To talk again with hawthorn green.
Chappell. The Words from Ritson's Ancient Songs, and Evans' Old Ballads. Tune Dargason.