Come lay me soft, and draw me near, and lay thy white hand over me, For I am starving in the cold, and thou art bound to cover me. O! cover me in my Distress, and help me in my Miserie, For I do wake when I should sleep, all for the love of my Dearie. My Rents they are but very small for to maintain my Love with all; But with my Labour and my Pain, I will maintain my Love with them. O Arthur's-Seat shall be my Bed, and the sheets shall never be sil'd for me, St. Anthony's Well shall be my Drink since my true Love's forsaken me. Should I be bound that may go free? should I love them that loves not me? I'd rather travel into Spain, where I'le get love for love again And I'le cast off my Robs of Black, and will put on the Robs of Blue, And I will to some other land, till I see my Love will on me rue. It's not the Cold that makes me cry, nor is't the Weet that wearies me; Nor is't the Frost that freezes fell: but I love a Lad, and I dare not tell. O Faith is gone, and Truth is past: and my true Love's forsaken me, If all be true that I hear say, I'le mourn until the day I die. Oh! if I had ne're been born, than to have dy'd when I was young. Then I had never wet my Cheeks, for the love of any Womans son. Oh oh! if my young Babe were born and set upon the Nurses knee, and I my self were were dead and gone, for a Maid again I'le never be. Martinmas wind when wilt thou blow, and blow the green leafs off the Tree? O! gentle Death, when wilt thou come; for of my life I am wearie.
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