X. Green gravels, green gravels, the grass is so green, Fine pencils, fine pencils, as ever were seen. O Mary! O Mary! your true love is dead, And he’s sent you a letter to turn round your head. —Wales (_Byegones_, 1890). XI. Yellow gravel, yellow gravel, The grass is so green, The fairest young lady That ever was seen. O ——, O ——, Your true love is dead; I send you a letter to turn round your head. —Cowes, Isle of Wight (Miss E. Smith). XII. Green gravel, green gravel, the grass is so green, Said the fairest young damsel that ever I’ve seen. O mother, O mother, my true-love is dead, He sent me this letter to turn round my head. O mother, O mother, do you think this is true? O yes, love! O yes, love! And what shall I do? I’ll wash you in butter-milk, I’ll dress you in silk, I’ll write down your name with my gold pen and ink. —Isle of Man (A. W. Moore). XIII. Green gravel, green gravel, the grass is so green, The flowers are all faded and none to be seen. O [Dolly], O [Dolly], your sweetheart is dead, He’s sent you a letter to turn back your head. Wallflowers, wallflowers, growing up so high, We are but little, and we shall have to die! Excepting [Dolly Turner], she’s the youngest girl. O for shame, and fie for shame, and turn your back to home again. —Madeley, Shropshire (Miss Burne). XIV. Green gravel, green gravel, the grass is so green, The fairest young lady that ever was seen. As I went up Miss Betsey’s stairs to buy a frying-pan, There sat Miss Betsey a-kissing her young man. She pulled off her glove and showed me her ring, And the very next morning the bells did ring. Dear Betsey, dear Betsey, your true love is dead, He’s sent you a letter to turn back your head. —Summertown, Oxford (A. H. Franklin, _Midland Garner_, vol. ii. p. 32). XV. Round the green gravel the grass grows green, All pretty fair maids are fit to be seen; Wash them in milk, and clothe them in silk, And write down their names with pen and black ink— Choose one, choose two, choose the fairest daughter. Now, my daughter, married to-day, Like father and mother they should be, To love one another like sister and brother— I pray you now to kiss one another. Now my daughter Mary’s gone, With her pockets all lined with gold; On my finger a gay gold ring— Good-bye, Mary, good-bye. Now this poor widow is left alone, Nobody could marry a better one; Choose one, choose two— Choose the fairest daughter.