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The Song Book 22I
O wherefore should I busk my heid,
Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook,
And says he'll never love me mair.
Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed,
The sheets shall ne'er be press'd by me, St. Anton's well shall be my drink,
Since my true love has forsaken me. O Mart'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves off the tree ? O, gentle death, when wilt thou come ?
For of my life I am wearie!
Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry :
But my love's heart's grown cauld io jx& When we came in by Glasgow town,
We were a comely sicht to see ; My love was clad in black velvet,
And I mysel in cramasie.
But had I wist, before I kissed,
That love had been sae ill to win, I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold,
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. Oh, oh ! if my young babe were born,
And set upon his nurse's knee, And I mysel were dead and gane,
And the green grass growm' over me !
From Chambers' Gongs of Scotland.