The Ballads and Songs of Yorkshire / Transcribed from Private Manuscripts, Rare Broadsides, and Scarce Publications; with Notes and a Glossary

by Unknown

That beauteous ladye dy'd.

"And where shee's layde the greene turfe growes,

And a colde grave-stone is there;

But the dew-clad turfe, nor the colde colde stone,

Is not soe colde as her."

Oh then prynce Henrye sad dyd sighe,

Hys hearte alle fulle of woe:

That haplesse prince ybeate hys breaste,

And faste hys teares 'gan flowe.