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90 ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH BALLADS.
But when it's auld it waxeth cauld, And fades away like morning dew.
O, wherefore should I brush my head ?
O, wherefore should I kaim my hair, For my true love has me forsook,
And says he '11 never love me mair.
Now, Arthur's seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne'er be fyld by me ;
Saint Anton's well shall be my drink Since my true love 's forsaken me.
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blow, And shake the green leaves off the tree ?
O, gentle death, when wilt thou come, For of my life I am weary.
» 'T is not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemency ;
'T is not the cauld as makes me cry,
But my love's heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town, We were a comelie sight to see ;
My love was clad in black velvet, And I myself in cramoisie.
But had I wist before I kist
That love had been sae ill to win ;
I 'd locked my heart in a case of gold, And pinned it with a silver pin. |
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