'My child, change your love speedily
Or you must still in prison lie.'

''Tis better far the cold to dree
Than give my true love up for thee.'



THE MILK WHITE DOE.



It was a mother and a maid
That walked the woods among,
And still the maid went slow and sad,
And still the mother sung.

'What ails you, daughter Margaret?
Why go you pale and wan?
Is it for a cast of bitter love,
Or for a false leman?'

'It is not for a false lover
That I go sad to see;
But it is for a weary life
Beneath the greenwood tree.

'For ever in the good daylight
A maiden may I go,
But always on the ninth midnight