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Black is the colour of my true love´s hair
his face is like some roses fair
he has the sweetest face and the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon he stands

I love my love an well he knows
I love the ground whereon he goes
I wish the day soon would come
when he and I could be as one

I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep
for satisfied I ne´er can be
I write him a letter, just a few short lines
and suffer death a thousand times

I love my love and well he knows
I love the Ground whereon he goes
he´s got the sweetest face, the neatest hands
I love the Ground whereon he stands

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