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, will you wed with me, wed with me in the early morning? A silken gown for your body’s wear, a golden crown for your hair’s adorning. (One flirting magpie on the quicken tree flies from his perching ’twixt you and me.) The proudest colt that my land has fed For you shall chafe first harnessed. And for your bidding six maidens be. (O bird of sorrow, ’tween hope and me!)

O Earl Desmond, I am loath to speak, loath to speak for your true heart’s sorrow, I'll be a bride at no man’s altar, though I be a wedded bride to-morrow. Death’s hand closes on the digging spade ; rest for ever ’neath the yew-tree's shade.)