Harle: Mistress Mine - 3. Come Away, Death

Come away, come away, Death

And in sad cypress let me be laid

Fie away, fie away, breath

I am slain by fickle night

My shroud of white stuck all with yew

Oh prepare it, my part of death

No one so true did share it

Come away, come away, Death

Not a flower, not a flower sweet

On my black coffin let there be strown

Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown

A thousand thousand sighs too sad

Lay me over sad, true lover

Never find my grave to weep there

Come away, come away, Death