Poor Sally is a-weeping, a-weeping, a-weeping,Poor Sally is a-weeping, down by the sea-side.Pray tell me what you’re weeping for, you’re weeping for, you’re weeping for,Pray tell me what you’re weeping for, down by the sea-side?I’m weeping for my sweetheart, my sweetheart, my sweetheart,I’m weeping for my sweetheart, down by the sea-side.A ring o’ roses,A pocketful of posies;Isham! Isham!We all tumble down.
Poor Sally is a-weeping, a-weeping, a-weeping,Poor Sally is a-weeping, down by the sea-side.Pray tell me what you’re weeping for, you’re weeping for, you’re weeping for,Pray tell me what you’re weeping for, down by the sea-side?
I’m weeping for my sweetheart, my sweetheart, my sweetheart,I’m weeping for my sweetheart, down by the sea-side.
A ring o’ roses,A pocketful of posies;Isham! Isham!We all tumble down.
—Manton, Marlborough, Wilts. (H. S. May).
XVI.
Poor Mary is a-weeping, a-weeping, a-weeping,On a fine summer’s day;What is she weeping for, weeping for, weeping for?She is weeping for her lover, her lover, her lover;And who is her love, who is her lover?Johnny Baxter is her lover, Johnny Baxter is her lover;And where is her lover, where is her lover?Her lover is a-sleeping, her lover is a-sleeping,Is a-sleeping at the bottom of the sea.
Poor Mary is a-weeping, a-weeping, a-weeping,On a fine summer’s day;What is she weeping for, weeping for, weeping for?
She is weeping for her lover, her lover, her lover;And who is her love, who is her lover?
Johnny Baxter is her lover, Johnny Baxter is her lover;And where is her lover, where is her lover?
Her lover is a-sleeping, her lover is a-sleeping,Is a-sleeping at the bottom of the sea.
—South Devon (Notes and Queries, 8th Series, i. 249, Miss R. H. Busk).
XVII.
Poor Mary, what are you weeping for?You weeping for?You weeping for?Poor Mary, what are you weeping for,On a bright summer’s day?Pray tell us what you are weeping for?You are weeping for?You are weeping for?Pray tell us what you are weeping for,On a bright summer’s day.My father he is dead, sir;Is dead, sir;Is dead, sir.My father he is dead, sir,On a bright summer’s day.
Poor Mary, what are you weeping for?You weeping for?You weeping for?Poor Mary, what are you weeping for,On a bright summer’s day?
Pray tell us what you are weeping for?You are weeping for?You are weeping for?
Pray tell us what you are weeping for,On a bright summer’s day.
My father he is dead, sir;Is dead, sir;Is dead, sir.My father he is dead, sir,On a bright summer’s day.
—Earls Heaton (Herbert Hardy).
XVIII.
Poor Mary is a-weeping, a-weeping, a-weeping,Poor Mary is a-weeping, on a fine summer’s day.Pray tell me what you’re weeping for? &c.Because my father’s dead and gone, is dead and gone, is dead and gone;Because my father’s dead and gone, on a fine summer’s day.She is kneeling by her father’s grave, her father’s grave, her father’s grave;She is kneeling by her father’s grave, on a fine summer’s day.Stand up and choose your love, choose your love, choose your love;Stand up and choose your love, on a bright summer’s day.
Poor Mary is a-weeping, a-weeping, a-weeping,Poor Mary is a-weeping, on a fine summer’s day.Pray tell me what you’re weeping for? &c.
Because my father’s dead and gone, is dead and gone, is dead and gone;Because my father’s dead and gone, on a fine summer’s day.
She is kneeling by her father’s grave, her father’s grave, her father’s grave;She is kneeling by her father’s grave, on a fine summer’s day.
Stand up and choose your love, choose your love, choose your love;Stand up and choose your love, on a bright summer’s day.
—(Rev. W. Gregor).
XIX.
Oh, what is Jennie weeping for,A-weeping for, a-weeping for?Oh, what is Jennie weeping for,All on this summer’s day?I’m weeping for my own true love,My own true love, my own true love;I’m weeping for my own true love,All on this summer’s day.Rise up and choose another love,Another love, another love;Rise up and choose another love,All on this summer’s day.
Oh, what is Jennie weeping for,A-weeping for, a-weeping for?Oh, what is Jennie weeping for,All on this summer’s day?
I’m weeping for my own true love,My own true love, my own true love;I’m weeping for my own true love,All on this summer’s day.
Rise up and choose another love,Another love, another love;Rise up and choose another love,All on this summer’s day.
—Berwickshire (A. M. Bell,Antiquary, xxx. 16).
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