ANONYMOUS
O wherefore should I busk my heid, Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true Love has me forsook, And says he'll never lo'e me mair.
Now Arthur's Seat sail be my bed,
The sheets sail ne'er be 'filed by me,
Saint Anton's well sail be my drink; Since my true Love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves afT the tree ?
gentle Death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I am wearie.
'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie, 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry;
But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. When we cam in by Glasgow toun,
We were a comely sicht to see, My Love was clad in the black velvet,
And I myself in cramasie.
But had I wist, before I kist,
That love had been sae ill to win,
1 had lock'd my heart in a case o' gowd.
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. And O' if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee, And I mysel were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me'
cramasie] crimson.
�� �
