4 'It is not your gold I want, dear love,
Nor yet your wealth I crave;
But one kiss from your lily-white lips
Is all I wish to have.
5 'Your lips are cold as clay, dear love,
Your breath doth smell so strong;'
'I am afraid, my pretty, pretty maid,
Your time will not be long.'
C
"From a yeoman in Suffolk, who got it from his nurse;" B. Montgomerie Ranking, in Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 387.
1 'Cold blows the wind oer my true-love,
Cold blow the drops of rain;
I never, never had but one sweetheart,
In the greenwood he was slain.
2 'I did as much for my true-love
As ever did any maid;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
* * * * *
3 'One kiss from your lily-cold lips, true-love,
One kiss is all I pray,
And I'll sit and weep all over your grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.'
4 'My cheek is as cold as the clay, true-love,
My breath is earthy and strong;
And if I should kiss your lips, true-love,
Your life would not be long.'