The Unquiet Grave
No: 78; variant: 78[Hb]
- Cold blows the wind to-night, my love,
Cold are the drops of rain;
The very first love that ever I had
In greenwood he was slain.
- 'I'll do as much for my true-love
As any young woman may;
I'll sit and mourn upon his grave
A twelve-month and a day.'
- When a twelve-month and a day were up,
His body straight arose:
'What brings you weeping oer my grave
That I get no respose?'
- 'O think upon the garden, love,
Where you and I did walk;
The fairest flower that blossomd there
Is withered on the stalk.
- 'The stalk will bear no leaves, sweet-heart,
The flower will neer return,
And my true-love is dead, is dead,
And i do naught but mourn.'
- 'What is it that you want of me
And will not let me sleep?
Your salten tears they trickle down
And wet my winding-sheet.'
- 'What is it that I want of thee,
O what of thee in grave?
A kiss from off your lily-white lips,
And that is all I crave.'
- 'Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,
My breath is earthy strong;
If you do touch my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long.'
- 'Cold though your lips in death, sweet-heart,
One kiss is all I crave;
I care not, if I kiss but thee,
That I should share thy grave.'
- 'Go fetch me a light from dungeon deep,
Wring water from a stone,
And likewise milk from a maiden's breast
That never maid hath none. (read babe had.)
- 'Now if you were not true in word,
As now I know you be,
I'd tear you as the withered leaves
Are torn from off the tree.'