Barbara Allen
Traditional
transcribed by: [email protected]
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In Scarlet Town where I was born, There was a fair maid dwellin’. Made
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ev’ry youth cry «Well — a — day,» Her name was Barbara Allen. All
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in the merry month of May, When green buds they were swellin’ Young
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Jemmy Grove on his deathbed lay, For love of Bar — bara Allen.
He sent his man unto her then,
To the town where she was dwellin’;
You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen
For death is printed on his face,
And o’er his heart is stealin’;
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovely Barbara Allen.
Though death be printed on his face,
And o’er his heart is stealin’,
Yet little better shall he be,
For bonnie Barbara Allen.
So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And all she said, when there she came,
Young man I think you’re dying.
He turned his face unto her straight,
With deadly sorrow sighing;
O lovely maid, come pity me,
I’m on my deathbed lying.
If on your deathbead you do lie,
What needs the tale your tellin’,
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell, said Barbara Allen
When he was dead and laid in grave,
Her heart was struck with sorrow,
O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I shall die tomorrow.
Hard-hearted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearly;
O that I’d been more kind to him,
When he was alive and near me!
She, on her deathbed as she lay,
Begg’d to be buried by him;
And sore repented of the day,
That she did e’er deny him.
Farewell, she said, ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in;
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.