The Brown Girl (Sally)

There was a young lady from London she came
And Sally and Sally and Sally was her name
Her portion was more than the king he possessed
Her beauty was more than the worth it could fetch.

Every night in the city (?) for more than one year
I courted this damsel and straightway did steer.
But Sally being scornful, her portion being high.
All on this young knight she'd scarce cast an eye.

O Sally, O Sally, O Sally, said he,
I'm sorry that your love and mine can't agree,
For I'm sure that you will my ruin prove,
Unless your great hatred all turns into love.

I've no hatred for you, nor no other man,
But as for to fancy you, I never can.
So drop your attire and end your discourse,
For I never will marry you unless I am forced.

Before two years had come, or two years had passed,
He heard of this young lady's misfortune at last,
She sent for this young man she had slighted and scorned,
She was pierced through the heart and she knew not wherefrom.

Then to her he came to the side of her bed:
A pain in your side, or a pain in your head?
O no, kind sir, the rights you've not guessed,
The pain that I feel presses (or pierces) me through the breast.

Am I then the doctor you sent for me here?
Yes, you are the doctor, she cried, my dear.
You are the man that first caused my woe,
Then without your assistance I'm ruined, I know.

O Sally, O Sally, O Sally, said he,
Don't you remember how you slighted me?
The words you have spoken you slighted with scorn
And now I'll reward you for things past and gone.

For things past and gone, I hope you'll forgive.
God grant me that blessing each day that I live.
No, I never will forgive you while I have breath.
I'll dance on your grave when you're laid in the earth.

Then off of her fingers pulled diamond rings three,
Keep these for my sake when you're dancing on me.
I'll freely forgive you although you won't me,
Ten thousand times over my folly I see.

Then fare you well, friends, and fare you well, foes,
Likewise to my sweetheart wherever he goes.
For ever I must lie in this cold bed of clay.
My red rosy lips must mould away,

Child #295
Laws P9
From Sharp, English Folk Song from the Southern Appalachians
play.exe BRNGIRL1
play.exe BRNGIRL2
SOF