The Ballad of Barbara Allen Unknown Artist

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In Scarlet town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin’,
Made every youth cry well-away!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swellin’,
Young Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man unto her then,
To the town, where she was dwellin’;
“You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.

“For death is printed on his face,
And ore his heart is stealin’:
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovely Barbara Allen.”

“Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his heart is stealin’,
Yet little better shall he be,
For bonny Barbara Allen.”

So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nigh him;
And all she said, when there she came:
“Young man, I think you’re dyin’.”