7
O it's I'm sick, and very very sick.
And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan,
O the better for me ye's never be,
Though your heart's blood were a' spilling.
O dinna ye mind, young man she said,
When ye was in the tavern a’ drinking,
That ye made the healths go round,
And slighted Barbara Allan.
He turn'd his face unto the wa',
For death was wi' him dealing,
Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a',
Be kind to Barbara Allan.
Slowly, slowly rose she up,
And slowly, slowly left him,
She, sighing said, she could not stay,
Since death of life bereft him.
She had nae gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the dead bell ringing,
And every jowl the dead bell gied,
I't cried woe to Barbara Allan.
O mother, mother mak my bed,
O mak it saft and narrow,
Since my love died for me to day,
I'll die for him to-morrow.
