Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard a maid singing in the valley below; “O don’t deceive me, O do not leave me! How could you use a poor maiden so?”
“O gay is the garland, fresh are the roses I’ve culled from the garden to bind on thy brow. O don’t deceive me, O do not leave me! How could you use a poor maiden so?”
“Remember the vows that you made to your Mary, Remember the bow’r where you vow’d to be true; O don’t deceive me, O never leave me! How could you use a poor maiden so?”
Thus sung the poor maiden, her sorrow bewailing, Thus sung the poos maiden in the valley below; “O don’t deceive me, O do not leave me! How could you use a poor maiden so?”
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