Hi,

[Here's Deceased Maiden Lover which a Sam Henry's Songs of the People editor lists a version of Died For Love. It's in quatrain form with a two line chorus. I believe it's by lutenist Robert Johnson (c1583–1633)- does anyone know?]

"The Deceased Maiden Lover," to the tune 'Bonny Nell,' attributed to lutenist Robert Johnson (c1583–1633); published in Playford's Ayres and Dialogues, fol. 1652.

Being a pleasant new Court-Song: to an excellent
new tune. Or to be sung to the tune of Bonny Nell

AS I went forth one Summers day,
To view the Meddowes fresh & gay
A pleasant Bower I espide,
Standing hard by a River side:
And int a Maiden I heard cry,
Alas theres none ere lovd like I.

I couched close to heare her mone,
With many a sigh and heavie grone,
And wisht that I had been the might
That might have bred her hearts delight
But these were all the words that she
Did still repeate, none loves like me.

Then round the Meddowes did she walke
Catching each Flower by the stalke,
Such as within the Meddowes grew,
As Dead-mans-thumb & Hare-bel blew
And as she pluckt them, still crid she
Alas theres none ere lovd like me.

A Bed therein she made to lie,
Of fine greene things that grew fast by,
Of Poplers and of Willow leaves,
Of Sicamore and flaggy sheaves:
And as she pluckt them still crid she,
Alas theres none ere loud like mee.

The little Larke-foot, sheed not passe,
Nor yet the flouers of Three leavd grasse
With Milkmaids Hunny-suckles phrase
The Crows-foot, nor the yellow Crayse,
And as she pluckt them still cride she,
Alas theres none ere lovd like me.

The pretty Daisie which doth show
Her love to phoebus bred her woe,
Who joyes to see his chearefull face,
And mournes when he is not in place.
Alacke, alacke, alacke, quoth she
Theres none that ever loves like me.

The flowers of the sweetest scent,
She bound them round with knotted Bent
And as she laid them still in bands,
She wept she waild, and wrung her hands
Alas, alas, alas, quoth she.
Theres none that ever lovd like me.

False man (quoth she) forgive thee heaven
As I do with my sinnes forgiven:
In blest El[i]zium I shall sleep,
when thou with pe[j]urd soule shalt weepe:
Who when they lived did like to thee,
That lovd there loves as thou dost me.

When shee had fild her apron full
Of such sweet flowers as she could cull,
The green Leaves servd her for her Bed
The Flowers pillowes for her head.
then down she lay, nere more did speak
alas with love her heart did breake.

FINIS.
Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke.

Additional I realized I had confused "Rambling Boy" with "Answer to Rambling Boy earlier in this thread--mea culpa-- both were published in a Scottish chapbook by Robertson in 1799. "Rambling Boy" is of the Brisk Young Sailor branch and is different than "Answer To Rambling Boy." The three versions where the cruel father sends him to sea appear on my web-site as:

B. The Cruel Father (sent to sea- dies of a cannonball)
   a. "The Cruel Father or Deceived Maid," from the Madden Collection, c.1790.
   b. "Answer to Rambling Boy" from a chapbook by J & M Robertson, Saltmarket, Glasgow; 1799.
   c. "The Squire's Daughter," printed by W. Shelmerdine and Co., Manchester c. 1800

Richie