Along the lanes from market
Folk went by:
White along the river-side
Mist did lie:
Hob rode the grey mare,
Rob rode the roan:
Then met I a stranger lad
Trudging alone.

'How, pray you, tell me,
Did the market go?
Sold you your wares there
High or low?'
All in the dusty lanes
Tears did fall:
'Love the Fool, Love the Fool,
Men me call!'

'Gold for the bay colt,
Gold for the brown,
For the goodwife's dairying
A fine new gown:
Silver for the sweet herbs
That in the garden grow:
What for love, what for love?
Nought but woe.'

'Some sell for money,
Some for kind:
What though your wares be
All left behind!
Ah, me, the bare board!
Ah, the chill morrow! . . .
Love the Fool, Love the Fool,
Sells for sorrow!'