Here's what's in Canow Kernow: My love is newly listed, he wears a green cockade He marched away and left me, like any roving blade Ch: Oh My poor heart, oh my poor heart My very heart is breaking all through the loss of him. His team of oxen ploughing, their loss now plainly show The very ground he trod upon, the grass refused to grow. If only I had told him, one half my grief and pain My lad would never listed, to sail away to Spain. Oh soon the leaves will wither, and ev'ry flower decay The beauty of a young maid will likewise fade away.
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