Love Henry

As Lady Margaret was a-going to her bed
She heard the sound of a musical horn;
It made her feel both glad and sad
To think it was her brother John, John
Coming in from his wild hunt

Who should it be but her love, Henry
Returning from his king, king
Returning from his king?

“Lie down, lie down, my love Henry
And stay with me tonight
You shall have a cheer of a cheerful girl
The best I can give thee, thee
The best I can give thee.”

“I shan't come down and I won't come down
And stay all night with thee
There's a girl by the city wall
I love far better than thee, thee
I love far better than thee.”

He's leaned across his saddle trim
To give her a kiss so sweet;
And with a pen-knife in her right hand
She's wounded him in full deep, deep
She's wounded him in full deep

“Woe be, woe be, Lady Margaret
Woe be, woe be to thee;
Don't you see my thick heart's blood
Run a-trickling down my knee, knee
Run a-trickling down my knee?”

She's called unto a maid of hers:
“The secret keep on me
And all the fair robes on my body
Shall always be to thee, thee
Shall always be to thee.”

One's taken him by the long yellow hair
The other one by the feet;
They throwed him into the well water
Which was both cold and deep, deep
Which was both cold and deep

”Lie there, lie there, Love Henry
Until the flesh rots off your bones
There's a girl by the city wall
Thinks long on your coming home, home
Thinks long on your coming home.”

It's up and spoke a pretty little bird
Exceeding on a willow tree:
“There never was a girl by the city wall
He loved far better than thee, thee
He loved far better than thee.”

“Come down, come down, my pretty little bird
And sit all on my knee
Your cage shall be made of the beaten gold
And the bars of ivory, -ry
And the bars of ivory.”

“I shan't come down and I won't come down
And sit all on your knee
For you have murdered your own true love;
Far sooner you would kill me, me
Far sooner you would kill me.”

O, if I had an arrow in my hand
My bow on a tuneful string
I'd fire a dart to pierce your heart
So you could no longer sing, sing
You could no longer sing.”

“O, if you had an arrow in your hand
Your bow on a tuneful string
I'd spread my wings and fly away
And tune my voice to sing, sing
And tune my voice to sing.”