157. The Brown Girl

‘I AM as brown as brown can be,

My eyes as black as a sloe;

I am as brisk as a nightingale,

And as wild as any doe.

‘My love has sent me a love-letter,

Not far from yonder town,

That he could not fancy me,

Because I was so brown.

III

‘I sent him his letter back again,

For his love I valu’d not,

Whether that he could fancy me

Or whether he could not.

‘He sent me his letter back again,

That he lay sick to death,

That I might then go speedily

To give him up his faith.’

Now you shall hear what love she had

Then for this love-sick man;

She was a whole long summer’s day

In a mile a going on.

When she came to her love’s bed-side,

Where he lay dangerous sick,

She could not for laughing stand

Upright upon her feet.

VII

She had a white wand all in her hand,

And smooth’d it all on his breast;

‘In faith and troth come pardon me,

I hope your soul’s at rest.’—

VIII

‘Prithee,’ said he, ‘forget, forget,

Prithee forget, forgive;

O grant me yet a little space,

That I may be well and live.’—

‘O never will I forget, forgive,

So long as I have breath;

I’ll dance above your green, green grave

Where you do lie beneath.

‘I’ll do as much for my true-love

As other maidens may;

I’ll dance and sing on my love’s grave

A whole twelvemonth and a day.’