Two versions from early print from ‘Ancient Ballads Traditionally Sung in New England (vol 2) (Helen Hartness Flanders 1961)
I haven’t checked, but Ms Flanders’s amazing collection is on line for listening – it may include oral versions
These from me, bear traces of the clumsy hand of the broadside maker – I’ve left the archaic spelling in (f instead of s,)
It would be interesting to see what the singers made of them
Jim Carroll

Sweet William’s Ghost (Child 77)
“Sweet William’s Ghost” has been found in the Carolina- Virginia area, in New England, and in Newfoundland, but it is certainly not widely known in North America. In Britain, it has become rare, too, although Child prints seven versions. There is an analogous song, “The Betrothed in the Grave,” which in Child’s words is “one of the most beautiful and celebrated of the Scandinavian ballads.”
Behind the song lies a Germanic folk belief that a de¬ceased lover cannot be at rest in the land of the dead when he still has an earthly tie. The revenant comes to ask back his unfulfilled troth. The crowing of the cocks, white or gray, red, and black, is the signal for his return to the coffin. Margaret, who cannot follow her lover into the grave, dies in sorrow. Child, II, 226-29, gives a full discussion of the superstitions involved.
Flanders A, from The Green Mountain Songster, is like Child C, from the Motherwell MS, in general plot outline, although there are marked differences in the two texts. Both, however, do include the three unwed girls and their three children standing in the grave, but where the Child text has hellhounds Flanders A has three maids to guide the dead man’s soul. Flanders B is a close replica of Child A, which is not the usual American form of the ballad. No mention is made in this text of the occupants of the grave; the coffin is merely too “meet” for Margaret to get in.
Coffin, 81-82, gives an American bibliography. Child, II,
226 f., discusses British variations and the analogues. Dean- Smith does not list the song at all.

A
Copied literatim et punctatim from page 34 of The Green Mountain Songster, which is in the possession of Harold Rugg at the Baker Memorial Library in Hanover, New Hampshire. This Songster was compiled by a Revolutionary soldier and published in the town of Sandgate in 1823. Printed in Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, 240.
H. H. F., Collector 1930
Lady Margaret and Sweet William

LADY Margaret sat in her own bowery all alone,
And under her bowry east window she heard three pitiful groans;
Oh, is it my father dear, she said, or is it my brother John,
Or is it my loving dear William from Scotland newly come home?

It is not your father, he said, nor is it your brother John,
But is your loving dear William from Scotland newly come home.
Oh have you brought me any gold, she said, or have you brought me any fee,
Or have you bro’t any fine linnen from Scotland home to me?

I have not bro’t you any gold, he said nor have I bro’t you any fee,
But I’ve brought you my winding sheet ’tis rotted off from me;
Give me my troth Lagy Margaret, he said I’ll give thee thine again
For the longer I tarry and talk with you the sharper’ll be my pain.

I will not give you your troth she said nor you give mine to me,
Until you carry me to fair Scotland your bowry for to see.
My bowry ’tis a poor bowry it is both deep and dim;
My bowry ’tis a poor bowry to put a fair lady in.

I will not give you your troth she said nor will I have mine again,
Until you kiss my merry merry lips or wed me with a ring.
I cannot kiss your merry, merry lips, by breath it is so strong,
My face it is all worm-eaten, I am no living man.

She pulled up her petticoat, almost unto her knee,
And in a cold and a winter’s night the pale ghost follow’d she;
Oh who are these, sweet William, she said, are standing at your head?
They’re three pretty maids, Lady Margaret, he said, that I refus’d to wed.

Oh who are these, sweet William, she said, are standing at your feet?
They’re three children, Lady Margaret, he said, that I re¬fus’d to keep.
Oh who are these, sweet William, she said, are standing by your side?
They’re three pretty maids, Lady Margaret, he said, waiting my soul to guide.

The first is for my drunkenness, the second’s for my pride,
The third is for my false swearing and wandering in the night;
Give me my troth Lady Margaret, he said, I’ll give thee thine again
For the longer I tarry and talk with you the sharper’ll be my pain.

She had a handkerchief in her hand she spread it on the ground,
Saying, here is your faith and troth William, God lay your body down;
She had a willow in her hand, she laid it across his breast,
Saying, here is your faith and troth, William, I wish your soul at rest.

So here is your faith and troth William, and give me mine again,
But if you’re dead and gone to hell in hell you must remain.

B
Copied literatim et punctatim by H. H. F. from a compilation of 400 pages of numbered issues of The Charms of Melody: or Siren Medley, printed by ]. & J. Carrick, Bache¬lor’s Walk, Dublin. The watermark on the title page reads GREAT NEWTON, with the date 1818. Copies are avail¬able at the Boston Athenaeum; the John Hay Library at Brown University {60 pages, dated 1824, beginnmg with volume 1, page 1); and at the Library of Congress.
H. H. F., Collector August 1, 1958
Margaret and Willy.
An Old Scotch Ballad

There came a ghoft to Marg’ret’s door,
With many a grievous groan,
And ay he twirled at the pin,
But anfwer made fhe none.

“Is that my father Philip?
“Or is’t my brother John?
“Or is’t my true love Willy,
“From Scotland new come home?”

“ ’Tis not thy father Philip,
“Nor yet thy brother John;
“But ’tis thy true love Willy,
“From Scotland new come home.

“O fweet Marg’ret! O dear Marg’ret!
“I pray thee fpeak to me;
“Give me my faith and troth, Marg’ret,
“As I gave it to thee.”

“Thy faith and troth thou’s never get,
“Nor yet will I thee lend,
“Till that thou come within my bow’r,
“And kifs my cheek and chin.”

“If I fhould come within thy bow’r,
“I am no earthly man;
“And fhou’d I kifs thy rofy lips,
“Thy days will not be lang.

“O fweet Marg’ret! O dear Marg’ret!
“I pray thee fpeak to me;
“Give me my faith and troth, Marg’ret,
“As I gave it to thee.”

“Thy faith and troth thou’s never get,
“Nor yet will I thee lend.
“Till you take me to yon kirk-yard,
“And wed me with a ring.”

“My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,
“A far beyond the fea;
“And it is but my fpirit, Marg’ret, “
That’s now fpeaking to thee.”

She ftretch’d out her lily-white hand,
And for to do her beft,
“Hae there’s your faith and troth, Willy,
“God fend your foul good reft.”

Now fhe has kilted her robes of green
A piece below her knee,
And aw the live-lang winter night
The dead corpfe follow’d fhe.

“Is there room at your head, Willy?
“Or any room at your feet?
“Or any room at your fide, Willy,
“Wherein that I may creep?”

“There’s no room at my head, Marg’ret;
“There’s no room at my feet;
“There’s no room at my fide, Marg’ret.
“My coffin’s made fo meet.”

Then up and crew the red, red cock,
And up then crew the grey;
“ ’Tis time, ’tis time, my dear Marg’ret,
“That you were going away.”

No more the ghoft to Marg’ret faid,
But, with a grievous groan,
He vanifh’d in a cloud of mift,
And left her all alone.

“O ftay, my only true love, ftay,”
The conftant Marg’ret cry’d;
Wan grew her cheeks, fhe clos’d her een,
Stretch’d her foft limbs, and dy’d.