C.J.S.
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1
A maiden sat a-weeping
Down by the sea shore,
What ails my pretty mistress?
What ails my pretty mistress?
And makes her heart sore!
2
Because I am a-weary,
A-weary in mind,
No comfort, and no pleasure, love,
No comfort, and no pleasure, love,
Henceforth can I find.
3
I'll spread my sail of silver,
I'll loose my rope of silk,
My mast is of the cypress-tree,
My mast is of the cypress-tree,
My track is as milk.