Brigg Fair

It was on the fifth of August

Er' the weather fine and fair,

Unto Brigg Fair I did repair,

For love I was inclined.

I rose up with the lark in the morning,

With my heart so full of glee,

Of thinking there to meet my dear,

Long time I'd wished to see.

I took hold of her lily-white hand,

O and merrily was her heart:

"And now we're met together

I hope we ne'er shall part".

For it's meeting is a pleasure,

And parting is a grief,

But an unconstant lover

Is worse than any thief.

The green leaves they shall wither

And the branches they shall die

If ever I prove false to her,

To the girl that loves me.