He took me by the wrist and held me hard.
Then goes he to the length of all his arm,
And with his other hand thus o’er his brow
He falls to such perusal of my face
As ‘a would draw it. Long stayed he so.

(How should I your true-love know from another one?)

At last, a little shaking of my arm
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He raised a sigh so piteous and profound
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
And end his being. That done, he lets me go;
(By his cockle hat and staff
And his sandal shoon)
And, with his head o’er his shoulder turn’d,
He seemed to find his without his eyes,
For out of doors he went without their helps
And to the last bended their light on me.
(He is dead and gone, lady.
He is dead and gone.
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone.)