He turnd his face unto her then: “If you be Barbara Allen, My dear,” said he, “come pitty me, As on my death-bed I am lying.”
“If on your death-bed you be lying, What is that to Barbara Allen? I cannot keep you from your death; So farewell,” said Barbara Allen.
He turnd his face unto the wall, And death came creeping to him: “Then adieu, adieu, and adieu to all, And adieu to Barbara Allen!”
And as she was walking on a day, She heard the bell a ringing, And it did seem to ring to her “Unworthy Barbara Allen.”
She turnd herself round about, And she spy’d the corps a coming: “Lay down, lay down the corps of clay, That I may look upon him.”
And all the while she looked on, So loudly she lay laughing, While all her friends cry’d out amain, “Unworthy Barbara Allen!”
When he was dead, and laid in grave, Then death came creeping to she: “O mother, mother, make my bed, For his death hath quite undone me.
“A hard-hearted creature that I was, To slight one that lovd me so dearly; I wish I had been more kinder to him, The time of his life when he was near me.”
So this maid she then did dye, And desired to be buried by him, And repented her self before she dy’d, That ever she did deny him.
SONG: EARL MARCH LOOKED ON HIS DYING CHILD
Earl March looked on his dying child, And, smit with grief to view her, “The youth,” he cried, “whom I exiled Shall be restored to woo her.”
She’s at the window many an hour His coming to discover: And her Love looked up to Ellen’s bower, And she looked on her Lover.--
But ah! so pale, he knew her not, Though her smile on him was dwelling. “And am I then forgot--forgot?” It broke the heart of Ellen.
In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs; Her cheek is cold as ashes; Nor Love’s own kiss shall wake those eyes To lift their silken lashes.
Lord Lovel he stood at his castle gate, Combing his milk-white steed; When up came Lady Nancy Belle, To wish her lover good speed, speed, To wish her lover good speed.
“Where are you going, Lord Lovel?” she said, “Oh! where are you going?” said she; “I’m going, my Lady Nancy Belle, Strange countries for to see, to see, Strange countries for to see.”
“When will you be back, Lord Lovel?” she said; “Oh! when will you come back?” said she; “In a year or two--or three, at the most, I’ll return to my fair Nancy-cy, I’ll return to my fair Nancy.”