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.
Then hooly, hooly raise she up, 25 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; 30 And everye jow the deid-bell geid, Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan!
O mither, mither, mak my bed, O make it saft and narrow: Since my love died for me to-day, 35 Ise die for him to morrowe.
[322] An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes _Dyand_ and _Lyand_ ought to be transposed; as the taunt _Young man, I think ye're yand_, would be very characteristical.
From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys _Collection_, with some improvements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same recited in her youth. The full title is, _True love requited: Or, the Bailiff's daughter of Islington_.
_Islington_ in Norfolk is probably the place here meant.
[Copies of this charming old ballad are found in all the large collections, and two tunes are associated with it.
Percy's suggestion that Islington in Norfolk is referred to is not a probable one, and there seems to be no reason for depriving the better known Islington of the south of the honour of having given birth to the bailiff's daughter. Islington at the time when this ballad was written was a country village quite unconnected with London, and a person who represented "a squier minstrel of Middlesex" made a speech before Queen Elizabeth at Kenilworth in 1575, in which he declared "how the worshipful village of Islington [was] well knooen too bee one of the most auncient and best tounz in England, next to London."]
There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, And he was a squires son; He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, That lived in Islington.
Yet she was coye and would not believe 5 That he did love her soe, Noe nor at any time would she Any countenance to him showe.
But when his friendes did understand His fond and foolish minde, 10 They sent him up to faire London An apprentice for to binde.
And when he had been seven long yeares, And never his love could see: Many a teare have I shed for her sake, 15 When she little thought of mee.