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George Collins TML # 003813
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This song is thought to have it's early origins as an English folk song, it is well known in various versions in most areas of the USA.
George Col-lins drove home one cold win-ter night,
George Col-lins drove home so fine,
George Col-lins drove home one cold win-ter night,
Was tak-en sick and died.

His little sweet nell in yonder room
Sat sewing her silk so fine,
But when she heard that George was dead,
She laid her silk aside.

Set down the coffin, take off the lid,
Lay back the linen so fine,
And let me kiss his cold pale cheeks
For I know he'll never kiss mine.

Oh daughter, oh daughter, why do you weep,
There's more young men than one;
Oh mother, oh mother, george has my heart
And his stay on earth is done.

Look up and down that lonesome road,
Hang down your head and cry,
The best of friends are bound to part,
And why not you and I.

Oh don't you see that lonesome dove
That's flying from pine to pine,
He's mourning for his own true love
Just like I mourn for mine.

Alternative version
George Collins rode out one cold winter night.
He rode through the snow so white
When  George Collins returned home again
He was taken  down  sick and he died.

His little Alice was in her room
Sewing on her silk so fine
When she heard her George was dead
She laid all her silk aside.

She sobbed, she sighed, she mourned and cried
When she entered the chamber of death
George, oh George, you're all my heart.
Now I have nothing left.

Her mother said, Alice, don't weep, don't you mourn
There's other young men just as fine.
Yes, Mother, I know there's other young men,
But none can ever be mine.

The golden sun sinking in the west
Just at the close of the day.
There in his last place of rest
They laid her George away.
Child #85
George Collins walked out one May morning
When May was all in bloom.
There he espied a fair pretty maid
A-washing her marble stone.

She whooped, she holloed, she highered her voice,
She held up her lilywhite hand.
'Come hither to me, George Collins,' she said,
'For your life shall not last you long.'

He put his foot on the broad water side,
And over the lea sprung he.
He embraced her around the middle so small,
And kissed her red rosy cheeks.

George Collins rode home to his father's own gate.
'Rise, mother, and make my bed,
And I will trouble my dear sister
For a napkin to tie around my head.

'And if I should chance to die this night,
As I suppose I shall,
Bury me under that marble stone
That's against fair Elanor's hall.'

Fair Elanor sat in her room so fine,
Working her silken skein.
She saw the fairest corpse a-coming
That ever the sun shone on.

She said unto her Irish maid:
'Whose corpse is this so fine?'
'This is George Collins' corpse a-coming,
That once was a true lover of thine.'

'Come put him down, my six pretty lads,
And open his coffin so fine,
That I may kiss his lilywhite lips,
For ten thousnad times he has kissed mine.

'You go upstairs and fetch me the sheet
That's wove with the silver twine,
And hang that over George Collins' head.
Tomorrow it shall hang over mine.'

The news was carried to London town,
And wrote on London gate,
That six pretty maids died all of one night,
And all for George Collins' sake.

Child #85
Sung by Henry Stansbridge, Lyndhurst, Hants.
(G.B.G. 1906)
This royalty free score was generated by the Traditional Music Library On Line Tunebook (Shareware Version). As-is copies of this score may be freely distributed. Further info from WWW.TRADITIONALMUSIC.CO.UK