Oh, dark is the evening, and silent the hour.
Who is the minstrel by yonder, lone at heart?
And this heart, also tenderly touching, or is killed?
Oh.
Oh, who should it be but young Ned of Lannes, who sings a little love?
Won't you come with me now?
Oh.
Oh.
Oh.
Yes, I shall come and libro
Noam Siddur
sad it must.
Oh, sad it must.
Oh.
What, no.
But is strange?
Well, I hear.
Oh.
Now we've still got.
But when, when young Ned of the Hill, young Ned of the Hill has no castle or home,
no spearsmen nor bowmen to combat his call,
but one little archer made a half-scarred scale,
a shot, a bright star for Ned of the Hill.
Who sings a litty love? Won't you come with me now?
I'll come and live merrily under the bough,
and I'll pillow thy head where the light will be spread.

Yeah.
In love with the twain, with young Ned of the Hill.
Tis hard to escape, young Ned of the Hill.
Yeah.
Yeah.






Yeah.






For high is the window, and guarded through the town.
But where there is a wind, there is always a wind.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah.









Oh, why leanest thou, with young Ned of the Hill,
who sings a litty love that won't mind, mind, know?
So come and live merrily under the bough
And I'll fill all thy head
Where the light of his train
So highly his way
To your name
All the land