A POORE Soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree; With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee; O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone, I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone; Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove: O willow, &c. She renders me nothing but hate for my O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. love. O pitty me (cried he) ye lovers, each one; O willow, &c. Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my mone. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace; O willow, &c. 5 10 15 20 The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face: O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 25 The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones : O willow, &c. The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland! Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove; O willow, &c. She was borne to be faire; I, to die for her love. O willow, &c, Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 30 35 O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard! Sing willow, &c. My true love rejecting without all regard. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. Let love no more boast him in palace, or bower; O willow, &c. For women are trothles, and flote in an houre. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 40 45 But what helps complaining? In vaine I complaine : O willow, &c. I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine. O willowe, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 50 Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me, O willow, &c. He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than she. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. The willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet; O willow, &c. A Garland for lovers forsaken most meete. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland! 55 60 PART THE SECOND. Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine ; O willow, willow, willow! Against her too cruell, still still I complaine, O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland! O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart! To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart: O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. O willow, willow, willow! the willow garland, O willow, &c. 5 10 A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand: O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. As here it doth bid to despair and to dye, O willow, &c. So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye : O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view, O willow, &c. Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. With these words engraven, as epitaph meet, O willow, &c. 15 20 25 "Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most sweet." Cause once well I loved her, and honoured her name: O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd. The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare, It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare; Sing, O the greene willow, &c. As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe; O willow, &c. It now brings me anguish, then brought me reliefe. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 40 45 50 Farewell, faire false hearted: plaints end with my breath! O willow, willow, willow! Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my death. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. 55 IX. Sir Lancelot Du Lake. This ballad is quoted in Shakspeare's Second Part of Henry IV. act ii. sc. 4. The subject of it is taken from the ancient romance of King Arthur, (commonly called Morte |