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In Scotland I was born and bred,
In London I was dwelling;
I fell in love wi' a nice young girl
And her name was Barbara Allan, Allan,
And her name was Barbara Allan.
I courted her for seven long years,
Till I could court no longer;
I grew sick and very very ill,
I sent for my own true lover, lover,
I sent for my own true lover.
Slowly she put on her clothes,
And slowly she came walking
And when she came to my bedside
She said, "Young man, you are dying, dying,"
She said, "Young man, you are dying."
"Dying my love that cannot be,
One kiss from you ould cure me;"
"One kiss from me that never shall be,
While your hard heart lies aching, aching,
While your hard heart lies aching."
He turned his back towards the wall,
And his face to Barbara Allan,
Adieu to you, and adieu to all,
And adieu to Barbara Allan, Allan,
And adieu to Barbara Allan.
Look ye up to my bedside,
There you will see hanging,
A quinea watch and a silver chain
And give that to Barbara Allan, Allan,
And give that to Barbara Allan.
Look ye down to my bedside,
There ye will see standing,
A china basin full of tears,
And give that to Barbara Allan, Allan,
And give that to Barbara Allan.
She had not gone a mile or two
When she heard the church bells tolling,
And every toll it seemed to say -
"Hard-hearted Barbara Allan, Allan.
Hard-hearted Barbara Allan."
"Oh mother, you'll make my bed for me
You will make it soft and narrow;
My love has died for me to-day,
And I for him tomorrow, morrow,
And I for him tomorrow."
Her mother then she made her bed
Wi' muckle grief and sorrow;
She laid her down to rise no more,
And she died for her own true lover, lover,
And she died for her own true lover.
Footnote : A traditional song, well-known on both sides of the Atlantic, with many variations. The earliest reference to this song goes back as far as Samuel Pepys diary when he mentions 'the little Scotch song of Barbary Allen'.                  

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