Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar,5
I pray thee tell to me,
If ever at yon holy shrine
My true love thou didst see.
And how should I know your true love
From many another one?10
O by his cockle hat, and staff,
And by his sandal shoone.[891]
But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view;
His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,15
And eyne of lovely blue.
O lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, he's dead and gone!
And at his head a green grass turfe,
And at his heels a stone.20
Within these holy cloysters long
He languisht, and he dyed,
Lamenting of a ladyes love,
And 'playning of her pride.
Here bore him barefac'd on his bier25
Six proper youths and tall,
And many a tear bedew'd his grave
Within yon kirk-yard wall.
And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!
And art thou dead and gone!30
And didst thou dye for love of me!
Break, cruel heart of stone!
O weep not, lady, weep not soe;
Some ghostly comfort seek:
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,35
Ne teares bedew thy cheek.
O do not, do not, holy friar,
My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth,
That e'er wan ladyes love.40
And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse,
I'll evermore weep and sigh;
For thee I only wisht to live,
For thee I wish to dye.