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16.—BLOW AWAY THE MORNING DEW.
1 Upon the sweetest summer time In the middle of the morn, A pretty damsel I espied, The fairest ever born.
And sing blow away the morning dew, The dew, and the dew.
Blow away the morning dew, How sweet the winds do blow.
2 She gathered to her lovely flowers
And spent her time in sport; As if in pretty Cupid's bowers She daily did resort.
3 The yellow cowslip by the brim,
The daffodil as well, The timid primrose, pale and trim, The pretty snowdrop bell.
4 And ever, ever as she did
Those pleasant flowers pull, She rais'd herself and fetch'd a sigh And wish'd her apron full.
5 Then did I offer her to pluck
Of every flower that grew, No herb nor flower then I missed But only bitter rue.
6 Both she and I did bow in pain
To gather quite a store, Until the modest maiden said, "Kind sir, I'll have no more."
7 Yet still did I with willing heart
Essay some more to pull. " No thank you, sir," she said, "we part, Because my apron's full."
8 She's gone with all those flowers sweet,
Of white, of red and blue, And unto me about my feet Is only left the rue. |
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