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Lloyd

Bitter Withy

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843 3 часа назад

Текст песни Lloyd - Bitter Withy

Lloyd - Bitter Withy слова песни




BITTER WITHYAs it fell out on a high holidaySmall rain from the sky did fallSweet Jesus asked of his own mother dearWhether he might play at ballTo play, to play, dear child she did sayIt`s time that you have been goneAnd don`t let me hear complaints about youAt night when you do come homeNow our Savior walked down into yonder townAs far as the holy, holy wellAnd there he met three of the finest childrenThat ever any tongue could tellGood morn, good morn, good morn, said theyGood morning, then said he, said heNow which of you three fine childrenWill play at ball with meOh we are lords and ladies sonsBorn in a bowery hallAnd you are but a maiden`s childBorn in an oxen stallNow our savior built a bridge with the beams of the sunand over the water ran he, ran heAnd the three jolly children followed after himAnd drowned they were all threeThe upward ball and the downward ballTheir mothers they did wail and squallSaying, Mary mild, fetch home your childFor ours are drownded allThen Mary mild picked a handful of withiesAnd laid our dear savior across her kneeAnd with that handful of withy twigsShe gave him slashes threeOh cursed be to the bitter withyThat has caused me to smart, to smartAnd that shall be the very first treeThat shall perish right at the heartrecorded by MaColl & Lloyd- English & Scottish Ballads; Roberts &Barrand - Nowell Sing We Clearfilename[ BITWITHYplay.exe BITWITHYSF===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY===

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