Mudcat Café message #956415 The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #19122   Message #956415
Posted By: MMario
20-May-03 - 03:50 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Req: Barbara Allen (different versions)
Subject: Lyr Add: BARBARA ALLAN
From Child:

Child 84A

IT was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the green leaves were a falling,
That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country,
Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

He sent his men down through the town,
To the place where she was dwelling:
`O haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allan.'

O hooly, hooly rose she up,
To the place where he was lying,
And when she drew the curtain by,
`Young man, I think you're dying.'

`O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,
And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan:'
`O the better for me ye's never be,
Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.

`O dinna ye mind, young man,' said she,
`When ye was in the tavern a drinking,
That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan?'

He turnd his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealing:
`Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allan.'

And slowly, slowly raise she up,
And slowly, slowly left him,
And sighing said, she coud not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the dead-bell ringing,
And every jow that the dead-bell geid,
It cry'd, Woe to Barbara Allan!

`O mother, mother, make my bed!
O make it saft and narrow!
Since my love died for me to-day,
I'll die for him to-morrow.'

Child 84B

IN SCARLET TOWN, where I was bound,
There was a fair maid dwelling,
Whom I had chosen to be my own,
And her name it was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,
When green leaves they was springing,
This young man on his death-bed lay,
For the love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man unto her then,
To the town where she was dwelling:
`You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.

`For death is printed in his face,
And sorrow's in him dwelling,
And you must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.'

`If death be printed in his face,
And sorrow's in him dwelling,
Then little better shall he be
For bonny Barbara Allen.'

So slowly, slowly she got up,
And so slowly she came to him,
And all she said when she came there,
Young man, I think you are a dying.

He turnd his face unto her then:
`If you be Barbara Allen,
My dear,' said he, 'Come pitty me,
As on my death-bed I am lying.'

`If on your death-bed you be lying,
What is that to Barbara Allen?
I cannot keep you from your death;
So farewell,' said Barbara Allen.

He turnd his face unto the wall,
And death came creeping to him:
`Then adieu, adieu, and adieu to all,
And adieu to Barbara Allen!'

And as she was walking on a day,
She heard the bell a ringing,
And it did seem to ring to her
`Unworthy Barbara Allen.'

She turnd herself round about,
And she spy'd the corps a coming:
`Lay down, lay down the corps of clay,
That I may look upon him.'

And all the while she looked on,
So loudly she lay laughing,
While all her friends cry'd out amain,
`Unworthy Barbara Allen!'

When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Then death came creeping to she:
`O mother, mother, make my bed,
For his death hath quite undone me.

`A hard-hearted creature that I was,
To slight one that lovd me so dearly;
I wish I had been more kinder to him,
The time of his life when he was near me.'

So this maid she then did dye,
And desired to be buried by him,
And repented her self before she dy'd,
That ever she did deny him.

Child 84C

IT fell about the Lammas time,
When the woods grow green and yellow,
There came a wooer out of the West
A wooing to Barbara Allan.

`It is not for your bonny face,
Nor for your beauty bonny,
But it is all for your tocher good
I come so far about ye.'

`If it be not for my comely face,
Nor for my beauty bonnie,
My tocher good ye'll never get paid
Down on the board before ye.'

`O will ye go to the Highland hills,
To see my white corn growing?
Or will ye go to the river-side,
To see my boats a rowing?'

O he's awa, and awa he's gone,
And death's within him dealing,
And it is all for the sake of her,
His bonnie Barbara Allan.

O he sent his man unto the house,
Where that she was a dwelling:
`O you must come my master to see,
If you be Barbara Allan.'

So slowly aye as she put on,
And so stoutly as she gaed till him,
And so slowly as she could say,
`I think, young man, you're lying.'

`O I am lying in my bed,
And death within me dwelling;
And it is all for the love of thee,
My bonny Barbara Allan.'

She was not ae mile frae the town,
Till she heard the dead-bell ringing:
`Och hone, oh hone, he's dead and gone,
For the love of Barbara Allan!'