LOVE is the Cause
of my Mourning.
Or, The Despairing Lover.
Sung with its own proper Tune.
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THe week before Easter the day being fair,
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The Sun shining bright, cold Frost in the Air,
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I did me to the Orchard some flowers to pull there
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But Flora could yeild me no pleasures.
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The hills being covered with Midsummers Clouds
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The white and the red did spring from the Rocks,
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The Birds they were tuning their Musical Notes,
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there was neither Coyslips nor Roses.
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I had not been in this Wood half an hour spent,
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When for to turn back again was my intent,
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I heard a young Man who sore did Lament?
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for Love was the cause of his Mourning.
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I Loved a Lass this many long Day,
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And for to requite me she is Marrid away,
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With sighing and sobing Lamenting for ay,
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which was the cause of his Mourning.
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Her Face was so fair I loved her well,
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I hated all those that wished her ill,
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They said of my Suit I would never prevail,
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but yet I would never believe them.
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Her Face was so fair my Joy to behold,
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Her Love I esteemed more dearer than gold;
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For once she had my Heart in her Hold,
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but yet with disdain she rewards me.
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When that I did see my Love to the Kirk go,
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With all her fair Maids she had a fair show,
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My heart was so grieved I mourned for woe
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to see her so lowly regarded.
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When that I did hear the Clerk publickly cry,
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Is there any contrary, its time to draw nye,
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I thought in my Mind good Reason had I.
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but yet it was best to conceal it.
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When I did see my Love join hand in hand,
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With Rings on her Fingers to seal up that Band,
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He had so inticed her with goods, gear and land,
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there was nothing but death could separat them.
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When I did see my Love in her Bed right,
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My Eyes gusht out of water and blinded my sight,
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I took off my Hat and bad her goodnight,
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pox on her for she will not leave him.
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