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“O hold your tongue of your former vows,

For they will breed sad strife; O hold your tongue of your former vows,

For I am become a wife."

He turnd him right and round about,

And the tear blinded his ee: “I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground,

If it had not been for thee.

“I might hae had a king's daughter,

Far, far beyond the sea;
I might have had a king's daughter,

Had it not been for love o thee.”

"If ye might have had a king's daughter,

Yersel ye had to blame; Ye might have taken the king's daughter,

For ye kend that I was nane.

“If I was to leave my husband dear,

And my two babes also,
O what have you to take me to,

If with you I should go?”

“I hae seven ships upon the sea

The eighth brought me to landWith four-and-twenty bold mariners,

And music on every hand.”

She has taken up her two little babes,

Kissd them baith cheek and chin: “O fair ye weel, my ain two babes,

Fór I'll never see you again.”

She set her foot upon the ship,

No mariners could she behold; But the sails were o the taffetie,

And the masts o the beaten gold.

She had not sayld a league, a league,

A league but barely three,
When dismal grew his countenance,

And drumlie grew his ee.

They had not sayld a league, a league,

A league but barely three, Until she espied his cloven foot,

And she wept right bitterlie.

“O hold your tongue of your weeping,” says he,

“Of your weeping now let me be; I will shew you how the lilies grow

On the banks of Italy.”

“O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,

That the sun shines sweetly on?” “O yon are the hills of heaven,” he said,

“Where you will never win.”

“O whaten a mountain is yon,” she said,

“All so dreary wi frost and snow?” “O yon is the mountain of hell,” he cried,

“Where you and I will go.”

He strack the tap-mast wi his hand,

The fore-mast wi his knee,
And he brake that gallant ship in twain,

And sank her in the sea.

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Forget not then thine own approved,
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved:
Forget not this!

TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS

AND wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay, for shame!
To save thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long
In wealth and woe among:
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart
Never for to depart
Neither for pain nor smart:
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,
And have no more pity
Of him that loveth thee?
Alas, thy cruelty!
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay!

THE LOVER COMPLAINETH

My lute, awake! perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste;
And end that I have now begun:
And when this song is sung and past,
My lute, be still, for I have done.

As to be heard where ear is none;
As lead to grave in marble stone;
My song may pierce her heart as soon.
Should we then sigh, or sing, or moan?
No, no, my lute, for I have done.

The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually

As she my suit and affection:
So that I am past remedy;
Whereby my lute and I have done.

Proud of the spoil that thou hast got Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot, By whom unkind thou hast them won: Think not he hath his bow forgot, Although my lute and I have done.

Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain,
That makst but game on earnest pain;
Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers plain;
Although my lute and I have done.

May chance, thee lie wither'd and old
In winter nights, that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told:
Care then who list, for I have done.

And then may chance thee to repent The time that thou hast lost and spent, To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon: Then shalt thou know beauty but lent, And wish and want as I have done.

Now cease, my lute, this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste;
And ended is that we begun:
Now is this song both sung and past:
My lute, be still, for I have done.

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