Black is the Colour of My [bad word] Love's Hair
    But 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.

    I love my love and well he knows,
    I love the ground whereon he goes.
    The prettiest face, the neatest hands,
    I love the ground whereon he stands.