Molly Vaughan- sung by Phoebe Smith from East Anglia, 1969.
As I went a-shooting, Till a shower came on; When the rain run down to the ground Taking her for a swan. And it's through my sad misfortune I shot my dear Molly Vaughan.
Molly Vaughan dear, I love you, You were my own [dear] light And it's if you were alive, I would have wed you this night
It were home to his uncle, Like a [ ] "Dearest uncle, dearest uncle, For it's what shall do? It is through my sad misfortune I shot my dear Molly Vaughan.
"Stay in your own native country, And don't run away. For I'm sure you will be righted, By the laws of this land."
There were judges and juries, And there's no one could see, And a voice heard like thunder, Saying, "Hanging must be." And she appeared there among them Like a mountain of snow.
There were judges and juries, Saying, Hanging must be," She said, "Don't you hang my true love, For my true love, loves me."