"'The thrush hath taken him a she,

      The robin, too, and eke the dove;

      My Robin hath deserted me,

      And left me for another love.

      So here, by brookside, all alone,

      I sit me down and make my moan.

      O willow, willow, willow, willow!

      I'll take me of thy branches fair

      And twine a wreath to deck my hair.'

      "But ne'er came herring from the sea,

      But good as he were in the tide;

      Young Corydon came o'er the lea,

      And sat him Phillis down beside.

      So, presently, she changed her tone,

      And 'gan to cease her from her moan,

      'O willow, willow, willow, willow!

      Thou mayst e'en keep thy garlands fair,

      I want them not to deck my hair.'"