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Giles Collins |
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2 His own little bride was in the hall, Sewing her silk so fine,
And she heard that George was dead, She threw it all aside.
3 She followed him up, she followed him down, She followed him to his grave,
And there upon her bended knees, She wept, she mourned, she prayed.
4 O daughter, O daughter, the mother then said, There is more young men than George; There is more young men standing round
To hear you weep and mourn.
5 O mother, O mother, the daughter then said, There is more young men than George ; There is more young men standing round, But none so dear as he.
6 Sit down the casket, take off the lid, Fold back the sheets so fine,
And let me kiss his cold, sweet lips, I'm sure he'll never kiss mine.
7 Look away over yonder at the lonesome dove, It flies from pine to pine,
Mourning for its own true love. Why shoudn't I mourn for mine ? |
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