4 acessos
A brisk young sailor courted me
He stole away my liberty
He stole my heart with a free good will
I must confess I love him still
Down in the meadows she did run
A gathering flowers as they sprung
Every sort she gave a pull
Till she had gathered her apron full
When first I wore my apron low
He followed me through frost and snow
But now my apron is up to my chin
He passes by and says nothing
There is an alehouse in this town
Where my love goes and sits him down
He takes another girl on his knee
Why is that not a grief for me?
Ah, griev'd I am, and I'll tell you why
'Cause she has more gold than I
Her gold will waste, her beauty blast
Poor girl, she'll come like me at last
I wish my baby it was born
Set smiling on its father's knee
And I was dead and in my grave
And green grass growing over me
There is a bird in yonder tree
Some say 'tis blind, and cannot see
I wish it been the same for me
Before I gained love's company