May 1, 1951
Collected by Irene Carlisle
Reel 115 Item 2
So earlie, earlie in the spring,
When green "buds were swellin',
Sweet William grew on his death-bed
For the love of Barbry Ellen.
He sent his servant down in town,
Where this fair maid were dwelling;
"Oh, Massa sent for you to come there,
If this is near yore dwelling."
Slowlie, slowlie she got up,
And slowly she went to him;
And what did she say when she got there?
"Young man, I think you're a-dying."
"Oh, yes, I'm sick; I'm very sick,
And death is near my dwelling;
NO better will I ever be,
If I don't get Barbry Ellen."
"Oh, yes, you're sick; you're very sick,
And death is near yore dwelling;
No better will you ever be,
For you can't git Barbry Ellen."
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