Black is the color of
My true love's hair
His face is like some wondrous fair
With the prettiest face
And the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon he stands

I love my love
And well he knows
I love the ground whereon he goes
If you know mark on earth I see
I counciled you as you have me

I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep
But satisfied I never can sleep
I'll write him a letter
Just a few short lines
I'll suffer death one thousand times

Black is the color of
My true love's hair
His face is like some wondrous fair
With the prettiest face
And the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon he stands