Historical Folk Lyrics
"George Collins (3 Versions)"
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George Collins came home last Friday night
And there he take sick and died;
And when Mrs. Collins heard George was dead,
She wrung her hands and cried
And there he take sick and died;
And when Mrs. Collins heard George was dead,
She wrung her hands and cried
Mary in the hallway, sewing her silk,
She's sewing her silk so fine,
And when she heard that George were dead,
She threw her sewing aside.
She's sewing her silk so fine,
And when she heard that George were dead,
She threw her sewing aside.
She followed him up, she followed him down,
She follow-ed him to his grave,
And there all on her bended knee
She wept, she mourned, she prayed.
She follow-ed him to his grave,
And there all on her bended knee
She wept, she mourned, she prayed.
Hush up, dear daughter, don't take it so hard,
There's more pretty boys than George.
There's more pretty boys all standing around,
But none so dear as George.
There's more pretty boys than George.
There's more pretty boys all standing around,
But none so dear as George.
Look away, look away, that lonesome dove
That sails from pine to pine;
It's mourning for it's own true love
Just like I mourn for mine.
That sails from pine to pine;
It's mourning for it's own true love
Just like I mourn for mine.
Set down the coffin, Pick up the lid,
And give me a comb so fine,
And let me comb his cold, wavy hair,
For I know he'll never comb mine.
And give me a comb so fine,
And let me comb his cold, wavy hair,
For I know he'll never comb mine.
Set down the coffin, lift up the lid,
Lay back the sheetings so fine,
And let me kiss his cold, sweet lips,
For I know he'll never kiss mine.
Lay back the sheetings so fine,
And let me kiss his cold, sweet lips,
For I know he'll never kiss mine.
Second Version
As I roved out one morning in May,
The meadows they were in full bloom,
A-watching the stone a pretty fair girl,
A-watching the marble stone.
She hollowed, she hollowed, she screamed with her might
She wrung her slim hands to the stars,
To the stars from heaven was twinkling down,
And she dreamed Young Collins was dead.
Collins he went to his own father's door,
Long hours before it was day.
0 rise, 0 rise, dear father, he cried,
Rise and let me in.
His own true love came to the door.
Whose corpse is this? she cried.
It's the corpse of Young Collins, she said,
An old true love of mine.
Bring in the corpse, she said,
I'll trim it with ribbons so fine;
I'll take the last [kiss] from his clear cold lips
Where ten thousand times he kissed mine.
Bring in the sheet, she said,
'Til I fix it with linen so fine.
Today it lies over Young Collins, she said,
And tomorrow it will be over mine.
The news went out in old Dublin's town,
And hung upon Dublin's gate.
There's six pretty maids a-died that night,
'Twas all for Young Collins's sake.
If I shall die this very same night,
I'd die, I hope and I will,
Bring me under the old green tree,
Where Young Collins's body did dwell.
Third Version
George Collins walked out one May morning
When May was all in bloom.
There he espied a fair pretty maid
A-washing her marble stone.
She whooped, she holloed, she highered her voice,
She held up her lilywhite hand.
Come hither to me, George Collins, she said,
For your life shall not last you long
He put his foot on the broad water side,
And over the lea sprung he.
He embraced her around the middle so small,
And kissed her red rosy cheeks.
George Collins rode home to his father's own gate
Rise, mother, and make my bed,
And I will trouble my dear sister
For a napkin to tie round my head.
And if I should chance to die this night,
As I suppose I shall,
Bury me under that marble stone
That's against fair Eleanor's hall.
Fair Eleanor sat in her room so fine,
Working her silken skein.
She saw the fairest corpse a-coming
That ever the sun shone on.
She said unto her Irish maid :
Whose corpse is this so fine?
This is George Collins' corpse a-coming,
That once was a true lover of thine.
Come put him down, my six pretty lads,
And open his coffin so fine,
That I might kiss his lilywhite lips,
For ten thousand times he has kissed mine.
You go upstairs and fetch me the sheet
That's wove with the silver twine,
And hang that over George Collins' head.
Tomorrow it shall hang over mine.
The news was carried to London town,
And wrote on London gate,
That six pretty maids died all of one night,
And all for George Collins' sake.
This song is from the album "Folk Songs From Newfoundland" and "English Folk Songs".