One problem with medieval music is that it is often hard to trace the origins of, let alone original lyrics of, many songs. One well known song of medieval European heritage is Barbara Allen. Below you will find three different sets of lyrics for Barbara Allen, those these are but a small sample of the various lyrics out there in the ether.
Lyrics Set #1
In Scarlet town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin’,
Made every youth cry Well-a-day!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merry month of May,
When the green buds they were swellin’,
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen
He sent his men down to her then,
To the town where she was dwelling:
“O haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allen.”
So slowly, slowly rase she up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And when she drew the curtains by–
“Young man, I think you’re dyin’.”
“O it’s I am sick and very very sick,
And ’tis a’ for Barbara Allen.” –
“O the better for me ye’se never be,
Tho your heart’s blood were a-spillin’!.
“O dinna ye mind, young man,” said she,
“When the red wine ye were fillin’,
That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allen?”
He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealin’:
“Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allen!”
And slowly, slowly raise she up,
And slowly, slowly left him,
And sighing said she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
As she was walkin o’er the fields
She heard the dead-bell knellin’,
And every jow that the dead-bell geid,
Cried, “Woe to Barbara Allen!”
“O mother, mother, make my bed!
O make it saft and narrow:
My love has died for me today,
I’ll die for him to-morrow.”
“Farewell”, she said, “ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforward take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.”
Lyrics Set #2
In London town where I was born,
And where I got my learning,
Sweet William Green took to his bed,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent her letters with his man,
She read them small and moving,
No better shall ye be,
Ye’ll not have Barbara Allen.
As she walked down the road to home,
She saw his hearse a-comin’,
“Oh, lay him down upon the ground,
That I may gaze upon him.
Oh, mother, mother make my bed,
Oh, make it long and narrow,
Sweet William died for love today,
I’ll die for him tomorrow.”
They buried her by the old church tower,
Him they laid beside her,
And from her grave grew a red, red rose,
And from his grave a briar.
They grew to top the old church tower,
They could not grow no higher,
And there they twined in a true lover’s knot,
Red rose around the briar
Lyrics Set #3
In Scarlet Town where I was born
There was a fair maid dwellin’
Made every youth cry well-a-day
Her name was Barbara Allen.
‘Twas in the merry month of May
When green buds they were swellin’
Sweet William on his death-bed lay
For the love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his servant to the town,
To the place where she was a-dwellin’,
Cried, “Master bids you come to him,
If your name be Barb’ry Allen.”
Then slowly, slowly she got up,
And slowly went she nigh him,
And when she pulled the curtains back
Said, “Young man, I think you’re dyin’.
“Oh, yes, I’m sick, I’m very very sick,
I never will be better,
Until I have the love of one
The love of Barb’ry Allen.”
“Oh, ken ye not in yonder town
In the place where you were a-dwellin’,
You gave a toast to the ladies all
But you slighted Barb’ry Allen.”
“Oh yes, I ken, I ken it well,
In the place where I was a-dwellin’;
I give a toast to the ladies all,
But my love to Barb’ry Allen.”
Then lightly tripped she down the stairs,
He trembled like an aspen.
‘Tis vain, ’tis vain, my dear young man,
To hone for Barb’ry Allen.
She walked out in the green, green fields.
She heard his death bells knellin’.
And every stroke they seemed to say,
“Hard-hearted Barb’ry Allen.”
Her eyes looked east, her eyes looked west,
She saw his pale corpse comin’;
She cried, “Bearers, bearers, put him down
That I may look upon him.”
The more she looked, the more she grieved,
Until she burst out cryin’;
She cried, “Bearers, bearers, take him off,
For I am now a-dyin’!”
“Oh, father, oh, father, go dig my grave,
Go dig it deep and narrow.
Sweet William died for me today;
I’ll die for him tomorrow.”
They buried her in the old churchyard,
Sweet William’s grave was nigh her,
And from his heart grew a red, red rose,
And from her heart a brier.
They grew and they grew o’er the old church wall,
Till they couldn’t grow no higher,
Until they tied a true lover’s knot,
The red rose and the brier.
SCA, Society for Creative Anachronism, medieval, middle ages, renaissance, history, European, music, song, lyrics, Barbara Allen, filk, bard, bards, bardic
Today’s riddle is taken from the Red Book of Exeter, a collection of Anglo-Saxon riddles. It is, I believe, over 1,000 years old. The winner gets to choose which of my SCA filks will be posted for next week’s Wednesday wordplay. Have fun! And be sure to check back by Thursday morning to see if you won.
