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In Scarlet towne where I was borne, There was a fair maid dwellin, Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye! Her name was Barbara Allen. All in the merrye month of May, When greene buds they were swellin, Young Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay, For love of Barbara Allen. He sent his man unto her then, To the town where shee was dwellin; You must come to my master deare, Giff your name be Barbara Allen. For death is printed on his face, And ore his harte is stealin: Then haste away to comfort him, O lovely Barbara Allen. Though death be printed on his face, And ore his heart is stealin, Yet little better shall he bee For bonny Barbara Allen. So slowly, slowly, she came up, And slowly she came nye him; And all she sayd, when there she came, Yong man, I think y'are dying. He turned his face unto her straight, With deadly sorrow sighing; O lovely maid, come pity mee, Ime on my death-bed lying. If on your death-bed you doe lye, What needs the tale you are tellin; I cannot keep you from your death; Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen. He turned his face unto the wall, As deadlye pangs he fell in: Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all, Adieu to Barbara Allen. As she was walking ore the fields, She heard the bell a knellin; And every stroke did seem to saye, Unworthye Barbara Allen. She turned her bodye round about, And spied the corps a coming: Laye down, lay down the corps, she sayd, That I may look upon him. With scornful eye she looked downe, Her cheeke with laughter swellin; Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine, Unworthy Barbara Allen. When he was dead, and laid in grave, Her harte was struck with sorrowe, O mother, mother, make my bed, For I shall dye tomorrowe. Hard-harted creature him to slight, Who loved me so dearlye: O that I had beene more kind to him When he was alive and neare me! She, on her death-bed as she laye, Beg'd to be buried by him, And sore repented of the daye, That she did ere denye him. Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all, And shun the fault I fell in: Henceforth take warning by the fall Of cruel Barbara Allen. |