I'm a Poor Stranger

As I went walking one morning in spring,
To hear the birds whistle and the nightingales sing,
I heard a fair lady a-making great moan,
Saying, "I'm a poor stranger and far from my own."

And as I drew near her I made a low jee; (bow)
I asked her for pardon for making so free;
My heart it relented to hear her to moan,
Saying, "I'm a poor stranger and far from my own."

I'll build my love a cottage at the end of this town,
Where lords, dukes and earls shall not pull it down;
If the boys they should ask you what makes you live alone,
You can tell them your a stranger and far from your own.
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