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It was in and about the
Martinmas time,
When the green leaves were
a falling,
That Sir John Gr�me, in the West Country,
Fell
in love with Barbara Allan.
He sent his man 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 turned 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
gied,
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.�
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