Six excellent songs (1)/Sir John the Grame

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SIR JOHN THE GRAME.

’Twas in and about the Martinmas time.
When the green leaves were a-falling,
That Sir John Grame o’ the west country
Fell in lovo 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 rose she up and came
To the place where he was lying.
And drew the curtain by, and said.
Young man, I think you’re dying.
O it’s I’m sick, I’m very sick.
And ’tis a’ for Barbara Allan,
O the better for me ye’s never be.
Though your heart’s blood were a spilling.

O dinna ye mind, young man, she said,
When the red wine ye were tilling,
That ye made their healths go round and round.
And slighted Barbara Allan?
He turn’d his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealing,
Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allan.

O slowly, slowly raise she up,
And slowly, slowly left him,
And sighing, said, she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
She had not gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the death-bell knelling,
And every jow that the death-bell gied,
It cry’d, wo 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.