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24 Sep 05 - 12:58 PM (#1569860) Subject: Lyr Req: sheila kay adams' young hunting #68 From: Roberto 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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24 Sep 05 - 06:17 PM (#1569982) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: sheila kay adams' young hunting #68 From: Susan of DT It's she DRAWED out her little penknife For there ain't no WIFE in the whole country And I will send for a doctor NEAR No doctor HAND, only God's own hand It's she took A-HOLD of his yellow hair till the flesh rots OFF'N your bones (and willow is always pronounced willer) That's what it sounds like to me, and I added few more you did not ask about. |
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25 Sep 05 - 02:03 AM (#1570153) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: sheila kay adams' young hunting #68 From: Roberto Thank you very much, Susan. R |
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25 Sep 05 - 02:57 AM (#1570164) Subject: ADD: sheila kay adams' young hunting #68 From: Joe Offer Young Hunting ^^ (as sung by Sheila Kay Adams) 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 drawed out her little penknife It a-being both keen and sharp She step-ped 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 wife 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 or 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, nor I won't live From the wound you've given me No doctor's hand, only God's own hand Could save my life for me, me Could save my life for me It's she cried out to a 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 a-hold of his long 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'n 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 weren't 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 transcribed from the My Dearest Dear CD, which was issued in 2000 Notes say these lyrics are taken from Sharp's English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians An accompanied version appears on the 2004 CD, All the Other Fine Things, by Shela Kay Adams. On this version, the wording is a bit different and Sheila Kay leaves off the last five verses. |