Was in the merry month of May
When flowers were a bloomin',
Sweet William on his death-bed lay
For the love of Barbara Allen.
Slowly, slowly she got up,
And slowly she went nigh him,
And all she said when she got there,
"Young man, I think you're dying."
"O yes, I'm sick and very low,
And death is on me dwellin',
No better shall I ever be
If I don't get Barbara Allen."
"Don't you remember the other day
When you were in the tavern,
I toasted all the ladies there
And slighted Barbara Allen?"
"O yes, I remember the other day
When we were in the Tavern,
I toasted all the ladies there,
Gave my love to Barbara Allen."
He turned his pale face to the wall,
And death was on him dwellin'.
"Adieu, Adieu, my kind friends all,
Be kind to Barbara Allen."
As she was walkin' through the fields,
She heard the death bells knelling,
And every toll they seemed to say,
"Hard-hearted Barbara Allen."
She looked east, she looked west,
She saw his corpse a-comin'.
"Lay down, lay down the corpse," she said,
"And let me gaze upon him."
"O mother, mother make my bed,
O make it long and narrow,
Sweet William died for me today,
I'll die for him tomorrow."
Sweet William died on a Saturday night,
And Barbara died on Sunday,
Her mother died for the love of both,
And was buried Easter Monday.
They buried Willie in the old church yard,
And Barbara there anigh him,
And out of his grave grew a red, red rose,
And out of hers, a briar.
They grew and grew in the old churchyard,
Till they couldn't grow no higher,
They lapped and tied in a true love's knot.
The rose ran around the briar.
"According to the book Folk Songs of North America, this one goes back to the early 16th century." -- MajorAWH@aol.com
In London town where I was born,
And where I got my learning,
Sweet William Green took to his bed,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent her letters with his man,
She read them small and moving,
No better shall ye be,
Ye'll not have Barbara Allen.
As she walked down the road to home,
She saw his hearse a-comin',
"Oh, lay him down upon the ground,
That I may gaze upon him.
Oh, mother, mother make my bed,
Oh, make it long and narrow,
Sweet William died for love today,
I'll die for him tomorrow."
They buried her by the old church tower,
Him they laid beside her,
And from her grave grew a red, red rose,
And from his grave a briar.
They grew to top the old church tower,
They could not grow no higher,
And there they twined in a true lover's knot,
Red rose around the briar. -- Theodorick@aol.com