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[ti:] |
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[ar:] |
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[al:] |
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As it fell out on a long summer's day, |
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Two lovers they sat on a hill; |
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They sat together that long summer's day |
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And could not talk their fill. |
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"I see no harm by you, Margaret, |
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Nor you see none by me; |
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Before tomorrow eight a clock |
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A rich wedding shall you see." |
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Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window |
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A combing of her hair, |
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And there she spy'd Sweet William and |
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As they were riding near. |
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Down she layd her ivory comb, |
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And up she bound her hair; |
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She went her way forth of her bower, |
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But never more did come there. |
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When day was gone, and night was con |
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And all men fast asleep, |
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Then came the spirit of Fair Margaret, |
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And stood at William's feet. |
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"God give you joy, you two true lovers, |
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In bride-bed fast asleep; |
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Loe I am going to my green grass grave |
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And am in my winding-sheet." |
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When day was come, and night was gone |
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And all men wak'd from sleep, |
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Sweet William to his lady said, |
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My dear, I have cause to weep. |
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He called up his merry men all, |
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By one, by two, and by three, |
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Saying, I 'll away to Fair Margaret's bower, |
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By the leave of my lady. |
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And when he came to Fair Margaret's bower, |
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He knocked at the ring; |
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So ready was her seven brethren |
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To let Sweet William in. |
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He turned up the covering-sheet; |
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"Pray let me see the dead; |
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Methinks she does look pale and wan, |
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She has lost her cherry red. |
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"I 'll do more for thee, Margaret, |
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Than any of thy kin; |
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For I will kiss thy pale wan lips, |
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Tho a smile I cannot win." |
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With that bespeak her seven brethren, |
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Making most pitious moan: |
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"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, |
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And let our sister alone." |
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"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride, |
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I do but what is right; |
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For I made no vow to your sister dear, |
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By day or yet by night. |
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"Pray tell me then how much you 'll deal |
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Of your white bread and your wine; |
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So much as is dealt at her funeral today |
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Tomorrow shall be dealt at mine." |
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Fair Margaret dy'd today, today, |
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Sweet William he dy'd the morrow; |
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Fair Margaret dy'd for pure true love, |
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Sweet William he dy'd for sorrow. |
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Margaret was buried in the lower chancel, |
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Sweet William in the higher; |
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Out of her breast there sprung a rose, |
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And out of his a brier. |
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They grew as high as the church-top, |
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Till they could grow no higher, |
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And then they grew in a true lover's knot, |
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Which made all people admire. |
