Black is the color of my [bad word] 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 [bad word] 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