It rained a mist, it rained a mist
All o'er, all o'er the land;
And all the boys of our town,
Went out to toss their ball, ball, ball,
Went out to toss their ball.

At first they tossed their ball too high,
And then again too low;
And over into the Jew's garden it went,
Where no one dared to go.

One little boy said, "I'll not go in,
Unless my playmates do;
For l have heard whoever goes in,
Shall never come out again."

Out came the Jew's daughter, all dressed, all dressed,
All dressed in red so grand:
"Come in, little lad," said she,
"You shall have your ball again."

At first she showed him a big red apple,
And then a gay gold ring,
And then a cherry as red as blood,
To entice this little boy in.

She took hold of his little white hand,
And through the castle they went,
She penned him in the cellar below,
Where no one could hear him lament.

She pinned him in a napkin,
And pinned him very tight ;
And called for a vessel of brightest gold,
To catch his heart blood in.

"Please lay my Bible at my head,
My prayer-book at my feet;
And if my playmates ask for me,
Tell them that I 'm asleep.

"O lay my prayer-book at my feet,
My Bible at my head;
And if my playmates ask for me,
Tell them that I am dead."

Child #155
Collected from Violet Hiett in 1917
Printed in Folk-songs of the South
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