Barbara Allen

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.