THE BANKS OF THE SWEET PRIMEROSES
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Traditional
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As I roved out one mid summer morning
To view the fields and to take the air
'Twas down by the banks of the sweet primeroses
There I beheld a most lovely fair

Says I "Fair maid where can you be a going
And what's the occasion of all your grief
I will make you happy as any lady,
If you will grant me one small relief"

Stand up, stand up, you false deciever
You are a false deceitful man 'tis plain
'Tis you that is causing my poor heart to wander
And to give me comfort 'tis all in vain

Now I'll go wild down to some lonesome valley
Where no man on earth shall ever me find
Where the pretty small birds do change their voices
And every moment blows blustrous