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Sung by Mrs. Moore, Rabun Co., Ga., May 2, 1909. (Tune not noted.)
i There was a young doctor, from London he came, He courted a damsel called Sarah by name. Her wealth it was more than the king could possess; Her beauty it was more than her wealth at the best.
2 O Sarah, O Sarah, O Sarah, said he, I am truly sorry that we can't agree, But if your heart don't turn unto love,
I fear that your beauty my ruin will prove.
3 O no, I don't hate you, and no other man, But to say that I like you is more than I can. So now you may stop with all your discourse, For I never 'low to have you unless I am forced.
4 After twenty-eight weeks had done gone and passed, The beautiful damsel she fell sick at last.
She sent for the young man she once did deny, For to come and see her before she did die.
5 Am I the young man that you sent for here ? Or am I the young man that you loved so dear ? You're the only young doctor can kill or can cure, And without your assistance I'm ruined, I'm sure.
6 O Sarah, O Sarah, O Sarah, said he, Don't you remember you once slighted me ?
You slighted, deviled me, you slighted me with scorn, And now I'll reward you for things past and gone.
7 Forget and forgive, O lover, said she,
And grant me some longer a time for to live.
O no, I won't, Sarah, enduring your breath,
But I'll dance on your grave when you lay in cold death.
8 Gold rings off her finger ends she pulled three,
Saying : Take these and wear them when you dance on me. Ten thousand times over my folly I see.
9 Now pretty Sarah is dead, as we all may suppose. To some other rich lady willed all her fine clothes. At last she made her bed in the wet. and cold clay; Her red, rosy cheeks is moulderin' away.