3
How could you say my face was fair,
And yet that face forsake?
How could you win my virgin heart,
Yet leave that heart to break?
How could you promise love to me,
And not that promise keep?
Why did you swear mine eyes were bright,
Yet leave those eyes to weep?
How could you say my lip was sweet,
And made the scarlet pale?
And why did I, young witless maid,
Believe the flatt'ring tale?
That face, alas! no more is fair;
That lip no longer red;
Dark are mine eyes, now clos’d in death,
And ev’ry charm is fled.
The hungry worm my sister is,
This winding-sheet I wear:
And cold and weary lasts our night,
’Till that last morn appear.
But hark! the cock has warn’d me hence:
A long and last adieu:
Come see, false man, how low she lies,
That dy’d for love of you.
Now birds did sing, and morning smile,
And shew her glistering head;
Pale William shook in ev’ry limb,
Then raving left his bed.
He hy’d him to the fatal place
Where Marg’ret’s body lay,
And stretch’d him on the green grass turf,
That wrapt her breathless clay.
And thrice lie call’d on Marg’ret’s name,
And thrice he wept full sore;
Then laid his cheek to the cold earth,
And word spake never more,
