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The Unquiet Grave

`The wind doth blow today, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one truelove, 
In cold grave she was lain.

I`ll do as much for my truelove
As any young man may;
I`ll sit and mourn all at her grave
For a twelvemonth, and a day.`

The twelvemonth a day being up,
The dead began to speak,
`Oh who sits weeping on my grave, 
And will not let me sleep ?`

``íTis I, my love, sits on your grave
And will not let you sleep,
For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips
And that is all I seek.`

`You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
But my breath smells earthy strong;
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips
Your time will not be long:

`íTis down in yonder garden green,
Love, where we used to walk, 
The finest flower that ere was seen
Is withered to a stalk.

The stalk is withered dry, my love,
So will our hearts decay;
So make yourself content, my love,
Till God calls you away.`