Moorland Johnny/William at eve

WHEN WILLIAM AT EVE.

When William at eve meets me down at the stile
How sweet is the Nightingale’s song
Of the days I forgot all my labour and toil
Whilst the moon plays yon branches among

By her beams without I hear him complain
And beleive every word of his song
You know not how sweet ’tis to love the dear swain
Whilst the Moon plays yon branches among

F I N I S.