Page:The Folk-Lore Journal Volume 7 1889.djvu/39

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
31
THE LONDON BALLADS.

Here's wringing of hands.
And bitter crying,
All on the salt-water sea.
Must I live on bread and water
Until I see my true love again?

The next has no title but its first line.

COME ALONG, COME ALONG, MY PRETTY LITTLE MISS.

"Come along, come along, my pretty little miss.
Come along, come along," said he;
"And seat yourself by me."


"Neither will I come, and neither sit down.
For I have not a moment's time;
For I heard that you had a new sweetheart,
And your heart is no more mine."


"It never was, and it never shall be.
And it never was any such a thing;
For yonder she stands, in her own father's garden.
The garden of the vine,
Mourning for her own true love.
Just like I've mourned for mine."


I laid my head in a little closet door.
To hear what my true love had to say,
So that I might know a little of his mind
Before he went away.


I laid my head on the side of his bed.
My arms across his breast;
I made him believe, for the fall of the year,
The sun rose in the west.


"I'm going away, I'm coming back again,
If it is ten thousand miles;
It's who will shoe your pretty little feet,
And who will glove your hand.
And who will kiss your red, rosy lips.
While I'm in a foreign land? "


"My father will shoe my pretty little feet,
My mother glove my hand,
My babe will kiss my red, rosy lips.
While you're in a foreign land."