"They bore him barefaced on the beir,
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny
And in his grave rained many a tear-"
Fare thee well, my dove!
(Speaks to various imaginary singers)
You must sing "a-down-a-down" and you, "call him a-down-a." O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward that stole the masters daughter.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue for you, and here's some for me; we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays. You must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died. They say 'a made a good end-
"For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy"
"And will a not come again? And will a not come again? No, no he is dead. Go to thy deathbed, He never will come again, His beard all flaxen white with snow, All flaxen was his poll. He is gone, he is gone. And we cast away moan, God ha' mercy on his soul!"
And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b' wi' you.
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