It was on the fifth of August 
Er' the weather fine and fair, 
Unto Brigg Fair I did repair, 
For love I was inclined.

I rose up with the lark in the morning, 
With my heart so full of glee, 
Of thinking there to meet my dear, 
Long time I'd wished to see.

I took hold of her lily-white hand, 
O and merrily was her heart: 
"And now we're met together 
I hope we ne'er shall part".

For it's meeting is a pleasure, 
And parting is a grief, 
But an unconstant lover 
Is worse than any thief.

The green leaves they shall wither 
And the branches they shall die 
If ever I prove false to her, 
To the girl that loves me.