Subject: Lyr Req: sheila kay adams' young hunting #68
From:
Roberto
Date: 24 Sep 05 - 12:58 PM
Young Hunting as sung by Sheila Kay Adams, in My Dearest Dear. Ballad taken from English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians collected by Cecil J. Sharp.
Please, a check to this transcription, and a couple of fill in. Thank you. R
Come in, come in, my old true love
And spend this night with me
For I have a bed, it's a very fine bed
I'll give it up for thee, thee
I'll give it up for thee
It's I can't come in, no, I ain't comin' in
To spend this night with thee
For I have a wife in the Old Scotland
This night she waits for me, me
This night she waits for me
It's she drove (?) out her little penknife
It being both keen and sharp
She stepped up to her own true love
And stabbed him through his heart, heart
She stabbed him through his heart
Woe be, woe be, Lady Margaret – he cried
Woe be, woe be to thee
For there ain't no ... (other?) in the whole country
That I loved any better than thee, thee
That I loved any better than thee
Be still, be still, my old true love
One hour, two or three
And I will send for a doctor ... (near?)
To save the life of thee, thee
To save the life of thee
It's I can't live, no, I won't live
From the wound you've given me
No doctor send, only God's own hand
Could save my life for me, me
Could save my life for me
It's she cried out to her servant maid:
This thing I promise thee
If you'll help me on this dark night
My gown I'll give to thee, thee
My gown I'll give to thee
It's she took her (?) hold of his yellow hair
And the other took up his feet
The throwed him into the old dry-well
Which was so cold and deep, deep
Which was so cold and deep
Lay there, lay there, my own false love
Till the flesh rots off on your bones
And the little ol' wife in the Old Scotland
Shall mourn for your return, -turn
Shall mourn for your return
Up spoke, up spoke a pretty little bird
All from the willow tree
There were no girl in the Old Scotland
That he loved any better than thee, thee
That he loved any better than thee
Fly down, fly down, my pretty little dove
And perch upon my knee
I'll give you a cage of the purest gold
Sure beats that willow tree, tree
Sure beats that willow tree
I won't come down, no, I ain't comin' down
To perch upon thy knee
For you just murdered your own true love
The same you'd serve to me, me
The same you'd serve to me
It's I'll go and get my arrow and my bow
My arrow and my string
An' I'll shoot you through your tender little heart
You never more shall sing, sing
You never more shall sing
While you go to get your arrow and your bow
Your arrow and your string
I'll fly away on my two little wings
Forever more I'll sing, sing
Forever more I'll sing
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sj
