My canoe is under water, and my banjo is unstrung, I’m tired of living any more: My eyes shall look downward, and my songs shall be unsung While I stay on old Kentucky shore. Oh, my poor Nelly Gray, &c. My eyes are getting blinded and I can not see my way, Hark! there’s somebody knocking at the door: Oh, I hear the angels calling, and I see my Nelly Gray; Farewell to the old Kentucky shore. CHORUS. Oh, my Nelly Gray, up in heaven there they say That they’ll never take you from me any more: I’m a coming, coming, coming, as the angels clear the way, Farewell to the old Kentucky shore. Poor Old Slave. 7 Copied by permission of RUSSELL & TOLMAN, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyright. ’Tis just one year ago to-day, That I remember well, I sat down by poor Nelly’s side A story she did tell; ’Twas about a poor, unhappy slave That lived for many a year; But now he’s dead and in his grave, No master does he fear. _Chorus._--The poor old slave has gone to rest, We know that he is free; Disturb him not, but let him rest, Way down in Tennessee. She took my arm, we walk’d along Into an open field, And here she paused to breathe awhile, Then to his grave did steal. She sat down by that little mound, And softly whisper’d there, “Come to me, father, ’tis thy child,” Then gently dropp’d a tear. _Chorus._--The poor old slave, &c. But since that time, how things have changed, Poor Nelly that was my bride, Is laid beneath the cold grave-sod, With her father by her side. I planted there upon her grave, The weeping-willow tree, I bathed its roots with many a tear, That it might shelter me. _Chorus._--The poor old slave, &c. A Thousand a Year. 8 ROBIN RUFF.-- If I had but a thousand a year, Gaffer Green-- If I had but a thousand a year, What a man would I be, and what sights would I see, If I had but a thousand a year. GAFFER GREEN.-- The best wish you could have, take my word, Robin Ruff, Would scarce find you, in bread or in beer; But be honest and true, say what would you do, If you had but a thousand a year. ROBIN RUFF.-- I’d do--I scarcely know what, Gaffer Green, I’d go--faith, I scarcely know where; I’d scatter the chink, and leave others to think, If I had but a thousand a year.