1

A maiden sat a-weeping
Down by the sea shore,
What ails my pretty mistress?
What ails my pretty mistress?
And makes her heart sore!

2

Because I am a-weary,
A-weary in mind,
No comfort, and no pleasure, love,
No comfort, and no pleasure, love,
Henceforth can I find.

3

I'll spread my sail of silver,
I'll loose my rope of silk,
My mast is of the cypress-tree,
My mast is of the cypress-tree,
My track is as milk.

4

I'll spread my sail of silver
I'll steer toward the sun
And thou, false love wilt weep for me,
And thou, false love wilt weep for me,
For me—when I am gone.