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My love is newly listed, he wears a green cockade
He marched away and left me, like any roving blade
Oh, my poor heart! My very heart is breaking
All through the loss of him, all through the loss of him.
His team of oxen ploughing their loss now plainly show
The very ground he trod on, the grass refused to grow
If only I had told him one half my grief and pain
He never would have left me to sail away to Spain
The flowers in the woodland so quickly will decay
The beauty of a young girl will likewise fade away