III.THE AULD GOOD-MAN.

FOOTNOTES:[260][Ver. 1. journeyed ore the.][261]Erle Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad.[262][V. 20. he sayes that must. MS.][263][Ver. 21. the gyant, he was neere soe.][264][V. 25. sais hee.][265][V. 26. my crowes about the walls.][266][V. 27. cold him.][267][V. 31. saies Guy your quarrelsome.][268][V. 32. are something neere.][269][V. 33.mostnot in MS., a club.][270][V. 36. heere is the wepon that must doe.][271][V. 37. Soe takes.][272][V. 38. sides.][273][V. 45. and ere he cold recovers clubb againe.][274][V. 46. did beate.][275][V. 48. to beate.][276][Ver. 49. att last through strength, Amarant feeble grew.][277][V. 51. nature wants her.][278][V. 54. then to grant.][279][V. 55. I give.][280]Which Guy had slain before[281][V. 56. to pledge, beare.][282][V. 58. to drinke cold.][283][V. 59. and after that carrouse.][284][V. 63. on some rocke.][285][V. 64. bulke doe stryke.][286][V. 66. behold him.][287][V. 67. lets to one.][288][V. 76. has deathes.][289][Ver. 79. att this bold pagans bostes.][290][V. 86. soe heavy and soe weaghtye.][291][V. 88. his fall.][292][V. 89. in his fist.][293][V. 90. and stroke a blow.][294][V. 96. I wold destroy.][295][V. 102. hurtfull.][296][Ver. 120. space to thee I will not.][297][strut.][298][V. 128.thatnot in MS.][299][V. 133. Guy said.][300][V. 134. seemes.][301][V. 135. ingratefull monster since thou hast denyd.][302][Ver. 140. doe weapon prove.][303][V. 142. behoves.][304][V. 145. Hold, tyrant.][305][V. 160. miserye.][306][V. 163. dungeon.][307][V. 166. then flesh.][308][Ver. 178. Will were.][309][V. 181. walls.][310][V. 183. the father.][311][V. 186. promise you.][312][V. 190. pittye sake.][313][V. 191. men may easilye revenge the deeds men doe.][314][V. 192. no strength. MS.]

[260][Ver. 1. journeyed ore the.]

[261]Erle Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad.

[262][V. 20. he sayes that must. MS.]

[263][Ver. 21. the gyant, he was neere soe.]

[264][V. 25. sais hee.]

[265][V. 26. my crowes about the walls.]

[266][V. 27. cold him.]

[267][V. 31. saies Guy your quarrelsome.]

[268][V. 32. are something neere.]

[269][V. 33.mostnot in MS., a club.]

[270][V. 36. heere is the wepon that must doe.]

[271][V. 37. Soe takes.]

[272][V. 38. sides.]

[273][V. 45. and ere he cold recovers clubb againe.]

[274][V. 46. did beate.]

[275][V. 48. to beate.]

[276][Ver. 49. att last through strength, Amarant feeble grew.]

[277][V. 51. nature wants her.]

[278][V. 54. then to grant.]

[279][V. 55. I give.]

[280]Which Guy had slain before

[281][V. 56. to pledge, beare.]

[282][V. 58. to drinke cold.]

[283][V. 59. and after that carrouse.]

[284][V. 63. on some rocke.]

[285][V. 64. bulke doe stryke.]

[286][V. 66. behold him.]

[287][V. 67. lets to one.]

[288][V. 76. has deathes.]

[289][Ver. 79. att this bold pagans bostes.]

[290][V. 86. soe heavy and soe weaghtye.]

[291][V. 88. his fall.]

[292][V. 89. in his fist.]

[293][V. 90. and stroke a blow.]

[294][V. 96. I wold destroy.]

[295][V. 102. hurtfull.]

[296][Ver. 120. space to thee I will not.]

[297][strut.]

[298][V. 128.thatnot in MS.]

[299][V. 133. Guy said.]

[300][V. 134. seemes.]

[301][V. 135. ingratefull monster since thou hast denyd.]

[302][Ver. 140. doe weapon prove.]

[303][V. 142. behoves.]

[304][V. 145. Hold, tyrant.]

[305][V. 160. miserye.]

[306][V. 163. dungeon.]

[307][V. 166. then flesh.]

[308][Ver. 178. Will were.]

[309][V. 181. walls.]

[310][V. 183. the father.]

[311][V. 186. promise you.]

[312][V. 190. pittye sake.]

[313][V. 191. men may easilye revenge the deeds men doe.]

[314][V. 192. no strength. MS.]

A Scottish Song.

Ihave not been able to meet with a more ancient copy of this humourous old song, than that printed in theTea-Table miscellany, &c.which seems to have admitted some corruptions.

[This song is printed in Ramsay'sTea-Table Miscellanyas old, and it is also given in theOrpheus Caledonius, 1725. "Auld goodman" means a first husband.]

Late in an evening forth I wentA little before the sun gade down,And there I chanc't, by accident,To light on a battle new begun:A man and his wife wer fawn[315]in a strife,5I canna weel tell ye how it began;But aye she wail'd her wretched life,Cryeng, Evir alake, mine auld goodman!

He.

Thy auld goodman, that thou tells of,The country kens where he was born,10Was but a silly poor vagabond,And ilka ane leugh him to scorn:For he did spend and make an endOf gear 'his fathers nevir' wan;He gart the poor stand frae the door;15Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.

She.

My heart, alake! is liken to break,Whan I think on my winsome John,His blinkan ee, and gait sae free,Was naithing like thee, thou dosend[316]drone;20Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair,And skin as white as ony swan,He was large and tall, and comely withall;Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.

He.

Why dost thou plein?[317]I thee maintein;25For meal and mawt thou disna want:But thy wild bees I canna please,Now whan our gear gins to grow scant:Of houshold stuff thou hast enough;Thou wants for neither pot nor pan;30Of sicklike ware he left thee bare;Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.

She.

Yes I may tell, and fret my sell,To think on those blyth days I had,Whan I and he, together ley35In armes into a well-made bed:But now I sigh and may be sad,Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan,Thou falds thy feet and fa's asleep;Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.40Then coming was the night sae dark,And gane was a' the light of day?The carle was fear'd to miss his mark,And therefore wad nae longer stay:Then up he gat, and ran his way,45I trowe, the wife the day she wan;And aye the owreword[318]of the frayWas, Evir alake! mine auld goodman.

Then coming was the night sae dark,And gane was a' the light of day?The carle was fear'd to miss his mark,And therefore wad nae longer stay:Then up he gat, and ran his way,45I trowe, the wife the day she wan;And aye the owreword[318]of the frayWas, Evir alake! mine auld goodman.

FOOTNOTES:[315][fallen.][316][dozing or stupid.][317][complain.][318][last word or burden.]

[315][fallen.]

[316][dozing or stupid.]

[317][complain.]

[318][last word or burden.]

Thisseems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher'sKnight of the burning pestle, acts 2d and 3d; altho' the six lines there preserved are somewhat different from those in the ballad, as it stands at present. The reader will not wonder at this, when he is informed that this is only given from a modern printed copy picked up on a stall. It's full title isFair Margaret's Misfortunes; or Sweet William's frightful dreamson his wedding night, with the sudden death and burial of those noblelovers.—

The lines preserved in the play are this distich,

"You are no love for me, Margaret,I am no love for you."

And the following stanza,

"When it was grown to dark midnight,And all were fast asleep,In came Margarets grimly ghostAnd stood at Williams feet."

These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any language. See the song intitledMargaret's Ghost, at the end of this volume.

Since the first edition some improvements have been inserted, which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy.

[The ballads on the two lovers Margaret and William are numerous, culminating as they do in Mallet'sWilliam and Margaret. SeeSweet William's Ghost(No. 6 in this book) and Mallet's ballad (No. 16 of book iii). The present ballad is also in the Douce Collection and in that of the late Mr. George Daniel. Jamieson prints (Popular Ballads and Songs, 1806, vol. i. p. 22) a ballad entitledSweet Willie and Fair Annie, which may be divided into two parts, the first resemblingLord Thomas and FairElinor, and the second,Fair Annie's Ghost, is still more like the following ballad.Mr. Chappell remarks, "Another point deserving notice in the old ballad is that one part of it has furnished the principal subject of the modern burlesque balladLord Lovel, and another that of T. Hood's song,Mary's Ghost."]

Mr. Chappell remarks, "Another point deserving notice in the old ballad is that one part of it has furnished the principal subject of the modern burlesque balladLord Lovel, and another that of T. Hood's song,Mary's Ghost."]

As it fell out on a long summer's dayTwo lovers they sat on a hill;They sat together that long summer's day,And could not talk their fill.I see no harm by you, Margarèt,5And you see none by mee;Before to-morrow at eight o' the clockA rich wedding you shall see.Fair Margaret sat in her bower-windòw,Combing her yellow hair;10There she spyed sweet William and his bride,As they were a riding near.Then down she layd her ivory combe,And braided her hair in twain:She went alive out of her bower,15But ne'er came alive in't again.When day was gone, and night was come,And all men fast asleep,Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,And stood at Williams feet.20Are you awake, sweet William? shee said;Or, sweet William, are you asleep?God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,And me of my winding-sheet.When day was come, and night was gone,25And all men wak'd from sleep,Sweet William to his lady sayd,My dear, I have cause to weep.I dreamt a dream, my dear ladyè,Such dreames are never good:30I dreamt my bower was full of red 'wine,'[319]And my bride-bed full of blood.Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured Sir,They never do prove good;To dream thy bower was full of red 'wine,'[319]35And thy bride-bed full of blood.He called up his merry men all,By one, by two, and by three;Saying, I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,By the leave of my ladiè.40And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,He knocked at the ring;And who so ready as her seven brethrènTo let sweet William in.Then he turned up the covering-sheet,45Pray let me see the dead;Methinks she looks all pale and wan,She hath lost her cherry red.I'll do more for thee, Margarèt,Than any of thy kin;50For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,Though a smile I cannot win.With that bespake the seven brethrèn,Making most piteous mone:You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,55And let our sister alone.If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,I do but what is right;I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpseBy day, nor yet by night.60Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,Deal on your cake and your wine[320]:For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,65Sweet William dyed the morrow:Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,Sweet William dyed for sorrow.Margaret was buryed in the lower chancèl,And William in the higher:70Out of her brest there sprang a rose,And out of his a briar.They grew till they grew unto the church-top,And then they could grow no higher;And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,75Which made all the people admire.Then came the clerk of the parìsh,As you the truth shall hear,And by misfortune cut them down,Or they had now been there.80

As it fell out on a long summer's dayTwo lovers they sat on a hill;They sat together that long summer's day,And could not talk their fill.

I see no harm by you, Margarèt,5And you see none by mee;Before to-morrow at eight o' the clockA rich wedding you shall see.

Fair Margaret sat in her bower-windòw,Combing her yellow hair;10There she spyed sweet William and his bride,As they were a riding near.

Then down she layd her ivory combe,And braided her hair in twain:She went alive out of her bower,15But ne'er came alive in't again.

When day was gone, and night was come,And all men fast asleep,Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,And stood at Williams feet.20

Are you awake, sweet William? shee said;Or, sweet William, are you asleep?God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,And me of my winding-sheet.

When day was come, and night was gone,25And all men wak'd from sleep,Sweet William to his lady sayd,My dear, I have cause to weep.

I dreamt a dream, my dear ladyè,Such dreames are never good:30I dreamt my bower was full of red 'wine,'[319]And my bride-bed full of blood.

Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured Sir,They never do prove good;To dream thy bower was full of red 'wine,'[319]35And thy bride-bed full of blood.

He called up his merry men all,By one, by two, and by three;Saying, I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,By the leave of my ladiè.40

And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,He knocked at the ring;And who so ready as her seven brethrènTo let sweet William in.

Then he turned up the covering-sheet,45Pray let me see the dead;Methinks she looks all pale and wan,She hath lost her cherry red.

I'll do more for thee, Margarèt,Than any of thy kin;50For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,Though a smile I cannot win.

With that bespake the seven brethrèn,Making most piteous mone:You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,55And let our sister alone.

If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,I do but what is right;I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpseBy day, nor yet by night.60

Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,Deal on your cake and your wine[320]:For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,65Sweet William dyed the morrow:Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,Sweet William dyed for sorrow.

Margaret was buryed in the lower chancèl,And William in the higher:70Out of her brest there sprang a rose,And out of his a briar.

They grew till they grew unto the church-top,And then they could grow no higher;And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,75Which made all the people admire.

Then came the clerk of the parìsh,As you the truth shall hear,And by misfortune cut them down,Or they had now been there.80

FOOTNOTES:[319]Ver. 31, 35. Swine,PCC.[320]Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals.

[319]Ver. 31, 35. Swine,PCC.

[320]Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals.

Given, with some corrections, from an old black letter copy, intitled,Barbara Allen's cruelty, or the young man'stragedy.

[It is not clear why Percy separated this English version ofBarbara Allenfrom the Scottish version entitledSir John Grehmeand Barbara Allan(No. 7).Goldsmith in his third Essay says, "the music of the finest singer is dissonance to what I felt when our dairy maid sung me into tears withJohnny Armstrong's Last Good Night, or theCruelty of Barbara Allen."It has been suggested that for "Scarlet towne" in the first verse should be read Carlisle town, but as some printed copies have Reading town we may suppose that a pun is intended.]

[It is not clear why Percy separated this English version ofBarbara Allenfrom the Scottish version entitledSir John Grehmeand Barbara Allan(No. 7).

Goldsmith in his third Essay says, "the music of the finest singer is dissonance to what I felt when our dairy maid sung me into tears withJohnny Armstrong's Last Good Night, or theCruelty of Barbara Allen."

It has been suggested that for "Scarlet towne" in the first verse should be read Carlisle town, but as some printed copies have Reading town we may suppose that a pun is intended.]

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,There was a faire maid dwellin,Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!Her name was Barbara Allen.All in the merrye month of may,5When greene buds they were swellin,Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,For love of Barbara Allen.He sent his man unto her then,To the town, where shee was dwellin;10You must come to my master deare,Giff your name be Barbara Allen.For death is printed on his face,And ore his hart is stealin:Then haste away to comfort him,15O lovelye Barbara Allen.Though death be printed on his face,And ore his harte is stealin,Yet little better shall he bee,For bonny Barbara Allen.20So slowly, slowly, she came up,And slowly she came nye him;And all she sayd, when there she came,Young man, I think y'are dying.He turnd his face unto her strait,25With deadlye sorrow sighing;O lovely maid, come pity mee,Ime on my deth-bed lying.If on your death-bed you doe lye,What needs the tale you are tellin:30I cannot keep you from your death;Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen.He turnd his face unto the wall,As deadlye pangs he fell in:Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,35Adieu to Barbara Allen.As she was walking ore the fields,She heard the bell a knellin;And every stroke did seem to saye,Unworthy Barbara Allen.40She turnd her bodye round about,And spied the corps a coming:Laye down, laye down the corps, she saydThat I may look upon him.With scornful eye she looked downe,45Her cheeke with laughter swellin;Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,Unworthye Barbara Allen.When he was dead, and laid in grave,Her harte was struck with sorrowe,50O mother, mother, make my bed,For I shall dye to-morrowe.Hard harted creature him to slight,Who loved me so dearlye:O that I had beene more kind to him,55When he was alive and neare me!She, on her death-bed as she laye,Beg'd to be buried by him;And sore repented of the daye,That she did ere denye him.60Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,And shun the fault I fell in:Henceforth take warning by the fallOf cruel Barbara Allen.

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,There was a faire maid dwellin,Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merrye month of may,5When greene buds they were swellin,Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man unto her then,To the town, where shee was dwellin;10You must come to my master deare,Giff your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,And ore his hart is stealin:Then haste away to comfort him,15O lovelye Barbara Allen.

Though death be printed on his face,And ore his harte is stealin,Yet little better shall he bee,For bonny Barbara Allen.20

So slowly, slowly, she came up,And slowly she came nye him;And all she sayd, when there she came,Young man, I think y'are dying.

He turnd his face unto her strait,25With deadlye sorrow sighing;O lovely maid, come pity mee,Ime on my deth-bed lying.

If on your death-bed you doe lye,What needs the tale you are tellin:30I cannot keep you from your death;Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen.

He turnd his face unto the wall,As deadlye pangs he fell in:Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,35Adieu to Barbara Allen.

As she was walking ore the fields,She heard the bell a knellin;And every stroke did seem to saye,Unworthy Barbara Allen.40

She turnd her bodye round about,And spied the corps a coming:Laye down, laye down the corps, she saydThat I may look upon him.

With scornful eye she looked downe,45Her cheeke with laughter swellin;Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,Unworthye Barbara Allen.

When he was dead, and laid in grave,Her harte was struck with sorrowe,50O mother, mother, make my bed,For I shall dye to-morrowe.

Hard harted creature him to slight,Who loved me so dearlye:O that I had beene more kind to him,55When he was alive and neare me!

She, on her death-bed as she laye,Beg'd to be buried by him;And sore repented of the daye,That she did ere denye him.60

Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,And shun the fault I fell in:Henceforth take warning by the fallOf cruel Barbara Allen.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

FromAllan Ramsay'sTea-Table Miscellany. The concluding stanza of this piece seems modern.

[In the previous ballad (No. 4) and in Mallet'sWilliamand Margaretit is Margaret who appears to William, but in the present one and in some other versions William is made to die first. InClerk Saunders(Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border) Scott has joined two distinct stories, and the second part, in which the spirit of Clerk Saunders appears to May Margaret, closely resembles the present ballad. Besides these there are two other versions. Kinloch's, entitledSweet William and MayMargaret, and Motherwell'sWilliam and Marjorie. Dr. Rimbault points out that the chief incidents in Bürger'sLeonoraresemble those in this ballad.The last two stanzas are probably Ramsay's own.]

The last two stanzas are probably Ramsay's own.]

There came a ghost to Margaret's door,With many a grievous grone,And ay he tirled at the pin;[321]But answer made she none.Is this my father Philip?5Or is't my brother John?Or is't my true love Willie,From Scotland new come home?'Tis not thy father Philip;Nor yet thy brother John:10But tis thy true love WillieFrom Scotland new come home,O sweet Margret! O dear Margret!I pray thee speak to mee:Give me my faith and troth, Margret,15As I gave it to thee.Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,'Of me shalt nevir win,'Till that thou come within my bower,And kiss my cheek and chin.20If I should come within thy bower,I am no earthly man:And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,Thy days will not be lang.O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,25I pray thee speak to mee:Give me my faith and troth, Margret,As I gave it to thee.Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,'Of me shalt nevir win,'30Till thou take me to yon kirk yard,And wed me with a ring.My bones are buried in a kirk yardAfar beyond the sea,And it is but my sprite, Margret,35That's speaking now to thee.She stretched out her lilly-white hand,As for to do her best:Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,God send your soul good rest.40Now she has kilted her robes of green,A piece below her knee:And a' the live-lang winter nightThe dead corps followed shee.Is there any room at your head, Willie?45Or any room at your feet?Or any room at your side, Willie,Wherein that I may creep?There's nae room at my head, Margret,There's nae room at my feet,50There's no room at my side, Margret,My coffin is made so meet.Then up and crew the red red cock,And up then crew the gray:Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,55That 'I' were gane away.[No more the ghost to Margret said,But, with a grievous grone,Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,And left her all alone.60O stay, my only true love, stay,The constant Margret cried:Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een,Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.]

There came a ghost to Margaret's door,With many a grievous grone,And ay he tirled at the pin;[321]But answer made she none.

Is this my father Philip?5Or is't my brother John?Or is't my true love Willie,From Scotland new come home?

'Tis not thy father Philip;Nor yet thy brother John:10But tis thy true love WillieFrom Scotland new come home,

O sweet Margret! O dear Margret!I pray thee speak to mee:Give me my faith and troth, Margret,15As I gave it to thee.

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,'Of me shalt nevir win,'Till that thou come within my bower,And kiss my cheek and chin.20

If I should come within thy bower,I am no earthly man:And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,Thy days will not be lang.

O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,25I pray thee speak to mee:Give me my faith and troth, Margret,As I gave it to thee.

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,'Of me shalt nevir win,'30Till thou take me to yon kirk yard,And wed me with a ring.

My bones are buried in a kirk yardAfar beyond the sea,And it is but my sprite, Margret,35That's speaking now to thee.

She stretched out her lilly-white hand,As for to do her best:Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,God send your soul good rest.40

Now she has kilted her robes of green,A piece below her knee:And a' the live-lang winter nightThe dead corps followed shee.

Is there any room at your head, Willie?45Or any room at your feet?Or any room at your side, Willie,Wherein that I may creep?

There's nae room at my head, Margret,There's nae room at my feet,50There's no room at my side, Margret,My coffin is made so meet.

Then up and crew the red red cock,And up then crew the gray:Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,55That 'I' were gane away.

[No more the ghost to Margret said,But, with a grievous grone,Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,And left her all alone.60

O stay, my only true love, stay,The constant Margret cried:Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een,Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.]

FOOTNOTES:[321][See note,ante, p.47.]

[321][See note,ante, p.47.]

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

Printed, with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy.

[Pepys, in Jan. 1665-1666, heard Mrs. Knipp, the actress, sing "her little Scotch song ofBarbery Allen" at Lord Brouncker's, and he was "in perfect pleasure to hear her sing" it. It was first printed in Ramsay'sTea-Table Miscellany(ii. 171)."I remember," says Mr. C. Kirkpatrick Sharpe, "that the peasantry of Annandale sang many more verses of this ballad than have appeared in print, but they were of no merit, containing numerous magnificent offers from the lover to his mistress, and amongst others some ships in sight, which may strengthen the belief that this song was composed near the shores of the Solway."—Addit.Illustrations to Stenhouse.]

"I remember," says Mr. C. Kirkpatrick Sharpe, "that the peasantry of Annandale sang many more verses of this ballad than have appeared in print, but they were of no merit, containing numerous magnificent offers from the lover to his mistress, and amongst others some ships in sight, which may strengthen the belief that this song was composed near the shores of the Solway."—Addit.Illustrations to Stenhouse.]

It was in and about the Martinmas time,When the greene leaves wer a fallan;That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye,Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.He sent his man down throw the towne,5To the plaice wher she was dwellan:O haste and cum to my maister deare,Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.O hooly, hooly raise she up,To the plaice wher he was lyan;10And whan she drew the curtain by,Young man, I think ye're dyan.[322]O its I'm sick, and very very sick,And its a' for Barbara Allan.O the better for me ye'se never be,15Though your harts blude wer spillan.Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,Whan ye the cups wer fillan;How ye made the healths gae round and round,And slighted Barbara Allan?20He turn'd his face unto the wa'And death was with him dealan;Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',Be kind to Barbara Allan.Then hooly, hooly raise she up,25And hooly, hooly left him;And sighan said, she could not stay,Since death of life had reft him.She had not gane a mile but twa,Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan;30And everye jow the deid-bell geid,Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan!O mither, mither, mak my bed,O make it saft and narrow:Since my love died for me to-day,35Ise die for him to morrowe.

It was in and about the Martinmas time,When the greene leaves wer a fallan;That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye,Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down throw the towne,5To the plaice wher she was dwellan:O haste and cum to my maister deare,Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.

O hooly, hooly raise she up,To the plaice wher he was lyan;10And whan she drew the curtain by,Young man, I think ye're dyan.[322]

O its I'm sick, and very very sick,And its a' for Barbara Allan.O the better for me ye'se never be,15Though your harts blude wer spillan.

Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,Whan ye the cups wer fillan;How ye made the healths gae round and round,And slighted Barbara Allan?20

He turn'd his face unto the wa'And death was with him dealan;Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',Be kind to Barbara Allan.

Then hooly, hooly raise she up,25And hooly, hooly left him;And sighan said, she could not stay,Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa,Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan;30And everye jow the deid-bell geid,Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan!

O mither, mither, mak my bed,O make it saft and narrow:Since my love died for me to-day,35Ise die for him to morrowe.

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