'The wind doth blow today, my love,
And a few small drops of rain
I never had but one true-love,
In cold grave she was lain.

'I'll do as much for my true love
As any young man may
I'll sit and mourn all at her grave
For twelmonth and a day.'

The twelvemonth and a day being up,
The dead began to speak :
'Oh who sits weeping on my grave,
And will not let me sleep? '

'T is I, my love, sits on your grave,
...