Four winds blowing thro' the sky, You have seen poor maidens1 die, Tell me then what I shall do That my lover may be true. Said the wind from out the south, Lay no kiss upon his mouth, And the wind from out the west, Wound the heart within his breast, And the wind from out the east, Send him empty from the feast, And the wind from out the north, In the tempest thrust him forth2, When thou art more cruel than he, Then will Love be kind to thee.
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