F
‘Cold blows the wind,’ Shropshire Folk-Lore, edited by Charlotte Sophia Burne, 1883–86, p. 542; “sung by Jane Butler, Edgmond, 1870–80.”
‘Cold blows the wind over my true love,
Cold blow the drops of rain;
I never, never had but one true love,
And in Camvile he was slain.
‘I’ll do as much for my true love
As any young girl may;
I’ll sit and weep down by his grave
For twelve months and one day.’
But when twelve months were come and gone,
This young man he arose:
‘What makes you weep down by my grave?
I can’t take my repose.’
‘One kiss, one kiss, of your lily-white lips,
One kiss is all I crave;
One kiss, one kiss, of your lily-white lips,
And return back to your grave.’
‘My lips they are as cold as my clay,
My breath is heavy and strong;
If thou wast to kiss my lily-white lips,
Thy days would not be long.
‘O don’t you remember the garden-grove
Where we was used to walk?
Pluck the finest flower of them all,
‘Twill wither to a stalk.’
‘Go fetch me a nut from a dungeon deep,
And water from a stone,
And white milk from a maiden’s breast
[That babe bare never none].’