O the world keeps running round

O the world keeps running round
With contrariness to me
There's falshood in the sound
Of all I hear and see
My love she's not so pretty
As many others be
Nor talkative nor witty
Yet very dear to me.


In the yellow gorse I see her
But that's wi' fancys eye
For I'm longing to be wi' her
While in prison bonds I lie
Furse bushes like to gilleflowers
More yellow are than gold
I've loved her there in summer hours
With joyfulness untold.


The furze bush is a prickly tree
Those flowers attract the bees
But false love's often wounded me
With sharper thorns than these
I met my love upon the heath
In summer's pleasant hours
She wore no thorns to be my death
She brought me nought but flowers.


And she shall be my only love
No other I'll prefer
For by that sun that shines above
I'll love but only her
We'll walk the molehill banks between
Where wild thyme smells so sweet
And at the dewy close o' e'en
I there my love shall meet.
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