The Unquiet Grave
No: 78; variant: 78B
- ‘HOW cold the wind do blow, dear love,
And see the drops of rain!
I never had but one true-love,
In the green wood he was slain.
- ‘I would do as much for my own true-love
As in my power doth lay;
I would sit and mourn all on his grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.’
- A twelvemonth and a day being past,
His ghost did rise and speak:
‘What makes you mourn all on my grave?
For you will not let me sleep.’
- ‘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.
- ‘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.’