Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair

Black is the color of my true 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 go to Clyde for to mourn and to 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 true love
The time has passed, and I wish you well
But still I hope the time will come
When you and I will be as one