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The Unquiet Grave

No: 78; variant: 78B

  1. '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.
  2. '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.'
  3. 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.'
  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.'