‘The stalk is wither’d dry, my love,
So will our hearts decay;
So make yourself content, my love,
Till God calls you away.’
[BOOK II]
[35. Hynd Horn]
I
Hynd Horn’s bound, love, and Hynd Horn’s free,
With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan;
Where was ye born, or in what countrie?
And the birk and the broom blows bonnie.
II
‘In good greenwood, there I was born,
And all my forbears me beforn.