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.