black is the color of my true love’s hair
his face is like some wondrous fair
with the prettiest face and the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon he stands

I love my love
and well he knows
I love the ground whereon he goes
if you know mark on earth I see
I counciled you as you have me

I go to the clyde for to mourn and weep
but satisfied I never can sleep
I write him a letter just a few short lines
I suffer death one thousand times

black is the color of my true love's hair
his face is like some wondrous fair
with the prettiest face and the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon he stands