Reliques of Ancient English Poetry consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and other Pieces of our earlier Poets, (Chiefly of the Lyric kind.) Together with some few of later Date |
 | 1. |
| 1. |
 | I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| III. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
 | Reliques of Ancient English Poetry |  |
VII. SIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA ALLAN.
A Scottish Ballad.
It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the greene leaves wer a fallan;
That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye,
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.
When the greene leaves wer a fallan;
That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye,
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.
He sent his man down throw the towne,
To the plaice wher she was dwellan:
O haste and cum to my maister deare,
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.
To the plaice wher she was dwellan:
O haste and cum to my maister deare,
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.
130
O hooly, hooly raise she up,
To the plaice wher he was lyan;
And whan she drew the curtain by,
Young man, I think ye're dyan .
To the plaice wher he was lyan;
And whan she drew the curtain by,
Young man, I think ye're dyan .
O its I'm sick, and very very sick,
And its a' for Barbara Allan:
O the better for me ye'se never be,
Though your harts blude wer spillan.
And its a' for Barbara Allan:
O the better for me ye'se never be,
Though your harts blude wer spillan.
Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,
Whan ye the cups wer fillan;
How ye maide the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan?
Whan ye the cups wer fillan;
How ye maide the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan?
He turn'd his face unto the wa'
And death was with him dealan;
Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',
Be kind to Barbara Allan.
And death was with him dealan;
Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',
Be kind to Barbara Allan.
Then hooly, hooly raise she up,
And hooly, hooly left him;
And sighan said, she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
And hooly, hooly left him;
And sighan said, she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
She had not gane a mile but twa,
Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan;
And everye jow the deid-bell geid,
Cried, wae to Barbara Allan!
Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan;
And everye jow the deid-bell geid,
Cried, wae to Barbara Allan!
131
O mither, mither, mak my bed,
O mak it saft and narrow:
Since my luve died sor me to day,
Ile die for him to morrowe.
O mak it saft and narrow:
Since my luve died sor me to day,
Ile die for him to morrowe.
| Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | |