To meeting, to meeting go I,
To meet sweet Willie, coming so nigh,
To meet him is pleasure and parting is grief,
An inconstant lover is worse than a thief.
A thief he will rob you and take all you have,
An inconstant lover send you to your grave,
In the grave you will molder and be turned to dust,
Oh, where is the young man a poor girl can trust? '
Come all ye fair maids, take warning by me,
Never place your affections on a green willow tree,
The leaves they will wither, the body soon die,
If I am forsaken I know not for why.
If I am forsaken he is surely foresworn,
When he thinks I am weeping, when he thinks I do mourn,
But to kill myself grieving that never will do,
Although', my sweet William, 'tis all for you.