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BARBARA ALLEN |
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And death is printed on his face, And o'er his heart is stealin';
Then haste away to comfort him, Oh! lovely Barbara Allen. |
When he was dead and laid in grave, Her heart was struck with sorrow;
O mother, mother, make my bed, For I shall die to-morrow.
6.
" Farewell! " she said, " ye maidens all,
And shun the fault I fell in ; Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen." |
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So slowly, slowly she came up, And slowly she came nigh him ;
And all she said, when there she came, 11 Young man, I think you're dying." |
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H. 4868. |
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