Little Margaret

Little Margaret, sitting in her high hall chair
Combing back her long, yellow hair
She saw sweet William and his new-made bride
Riding up the road so near
She threw down her ivory comb
Threw back her long yellow hair
Said, «I'll go down and I’ll bid him farewell
«And I’ll nevermore go there»
It was late in the night
They were fast asleep
Little Margaret appeared all dressed in white
Standing at their bed-feet
Saying, «How do you like your snow-white pillow?»
«How do you like your sheet?»
Saying, «How do you like that pretty fair maid
«Who lays in your arms asleep?»
«Very well do I like my snow-white pillow
Well do I like my sheet
Much better do I like that pretty fair maid
Who stands at my bed-feet»
He called his serving man to go
And saddled the dappled roan
And he rode for her father’s house that night
Knocked on the door alone
Saying, «Is Little Margaret in her room
Or is she in the hall?»
«Little Margaret’s in her coal-black coffin
With her face turned toward the wall»
Unfold, unfold those snow-white robes
Be they ever so fine
For I want to kiss those cold, cold lips
For I know they’ll never kiss mine
Three times he kissed her cold, cold hand
Twice he kissed her cheek
But once he kissed her cold cold lips
Then he fell in her arms asleep