Page:Keys of love (2).pdf/4

[4] My love he lives upon a hill,

it's all grown o'er with heather,

Come tie the creel upon my back,

ome berries for to gather.

Come fill the creel come fill it well,

ee that it lake no berries,

For a man that loves hi mitres well,

he will her always cherih.

Some people ay, that I am rude,

and in me there's no widom;

But believe me now, I'll tell you true,

I'll be a loving husband.

Our ministers and clergymen,

they peak for gain and treaure,

The man that loves his mistres well,

he'll wait upon her leiure.

I'll come to-night when the moon hines bright,

becaue thou art my deary:

A man that loves his mistres well,

no travel makes him weary.

Down in yon garden there are bees,

and below their hive there's honey,

The man that loves his mitres well,

he values not her money.

I know thy friends are uing means,

on purpoe to diuade you,

Thinking to get a better match,

but fortune may beguile you.