BARBARA ALLEN
(one of the best known of the old English ballads; l learned it in about 1949)
In Scarlet Town, where I was born
All in the merry month of May
He sent his servant to her door,
O, slowly, slowly, she got up,
O yes, I'm sick, and very sick,
Do you remember the other night,
Yes, I remember the other night,
He turned his pale face to the wall,
As she was walkin' toward her home,
Then she looked east, and she looked west,
O mother, mother, make my bed,
O father, father, dig my grave,
As on her death-bed there she lay,
Farewell, she said, ye virgins all,
A rose grew from sweet William's grave,
They grew and grew to the steeple top,
(from miriam berg's folksong collection)
There was a fair maid dwellin';
Made ev'ry youth cry, Well-a-day!
Her name was Barb'ry Allen.
The green buds, they were swellin',
Sweet William on his deathbed lay,
For love of Barb'ry Allen.
To the place where she was dwellin',
Sayin', Miss, o Miss, o come you quick,
If you be Barb'ry Allen.
And slowly she came nigh him,
She drew the curtain to one side,
And said, Young man, you're dyin'.
And grief in me is dwellin',
No better, now, I'll ever be,
If I don't have Barb'ry Allen.
When you were at the tavern?
You drank a health to the ladies all,
But you slighted Barb'ry Allen.
When I was at the tavern;
I gave a health to the ladies all,
But my heart to Barb'ry Allen.
For death was in him dwellin',
Good-bye, good-bye, my dear friends all,
Be kind to Barb'ry Allen.
She heard the death-bell knellin',
And every stroke, it seemed to say,
Hard-hearted Barb'ry Allen!
She saw the corpse a-comin',
O hand me down that corpse of clay,
That I may look upon him.
O make it long and narrow;
Sweet William died for me today,
I'll die for him tomorrow.
O dig it long and narrow,
Sweet William died for love of me,
And I shall die for sorrow.
She begged to be buried beside him,
And sore repented of the day
That ever she denied him.
And shun the fault I fell in;
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barb'ry Allen.
From Barbara's grew a brier;
They grew and grew to the steeple top,
Till they could grow no higher.
There they could grow no higher;
And there they tied in a true-love knot,
The rose clung 'round the brier.