Collected by Chester Lowe, Tom Harper, and Ron R. Smith. For M.C. Parler Transcribed by Tom Harper
Mr. Clarence Smith Booneville, Ark. January 9, 1960
Reel 340, Item 10
In Scarlet Town where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwelling.
And every lad cried well-a-day,
Her name was Barbara Allen.
T'was on a morn in early May,
The green buds all were swelling.
Young William on his death-bed lay,
For the love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his servant into town To call at Barbara's dwelling.
Said he,"my master sends for you,
If your name be Barbara Allen."
Then slowley, slow ley up she rose,
And slowly she came nigh him;
And said by his form as she stood,
"My lad, I think you're dying."
He turned his face unto the wall,
For death was in his dwelling;
And said,"no better can I be,
Till I wed my Barbara Allen."
When he was gone and in his grave,
Her heart was sick with sorrow.
She cried, "Oh mother make my bed,
For I will die tomorrow."
They placed her in the old churchyard; Young William's grave was nigh her,
And from his mound a red rose grew,
From her's a cruel briar.
The vines grew up the old church wall, Till they could climb no higher;
All wrapped and turned in lover's knots— The rose around the briar.
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