Black is the colour of my [bad word] love's hair. 
His face is like some rosy fair, 
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 no more on earth I see, 
I can't serve you as you have me. 

The winter's passed and the leaves are green 
The time is passed that we have seen, 
But still I hope the time [bad word] 
When you and I shall be as one. 

I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep, 
But satisfied I never could sleep, 
I'll write to you a few short lines 
I'll suffer death ten thousand times. 

So fare you well, my own [bad word] love 
The time has passed, but I wish you well. 
But still I hope the time [bad word] 
When you and I will be as one. 

But Black is the colour of my [bad word] love's hair...