It was on the fifth of August.
Er the weather fine and fair,
Unto Brigg Fair I did repair,
For love I was inclined.
I rose up with the lark in the morning,
With my heart so full of glee,
Of thinking there to meet my dear,
Long time I'd wished to see.
I took hold of her lily-white hand,
0 and merrily was her heart -
"And now we're met together
I hope we ne'er shall part."
For it's meeting is a pleasure,
And parting is a grief,
But an unconstant lover
Is worse than any thief.
The green leaves they shall wither
And the branches they shall die
It ever I prove false to her,
To the girl that loves me.
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