THE LOVER’S COMPLAINT.
Sorrows live and pleasures dee,
Willy-willy-waly weep my woe!
And I’ll wear the willow-tree,
Willow-willow weeping, sweeping low.
For I loved a bonnie lass,
Willy-willy-waly weep my woe!
Bonnie, bonnie Love, alas!
Willow-willow, whither did she go?
Here upon this willow-tree,
Willy-willy-waly weep my woe!
I will hang my harp, and dee,
Willow-willow, will she ever know?
On my heart I’ll place my hand
Willy-willy-waly wailing so!
On my head a green garland,
Willow-willow weeping sleeping so!
Then farewell, my bride and breath,
Willy-willy-waly, waly-oh!
Still I love you, tho’ my death,
Willow-willow wailing—will she know!
[The willow-tree is emblematical of death, or forsaken love—which, to the lover, is, of course, all the same thing. The custom of a disappointed lover’s hanging his harp on a willow-tree and going off to the wars in utter desperation—hoping to get killed, perhaps, and thus be revenged on his false sweetheart by making her sorry!—; also the custom of wearing a green-willow garland about the hat, and leaning up against the tree (they had no fences) to die, somewhat à la Job’s turkey, I presume, as they used to do before quicker, modern, new-fangled methods of a lover’s getting out of the world came in; and the custom of doing many other things that were done by the young ancient lovers, is a custom that is dead. The preceding is the wail of one of these youthful old dolorous fellows, in the English-Ballad style of his day.]