Then Marg'ret took her milk-white hand, And smooth'd it on his breast;-- "Tak your faith and troth, William, 55 God send your soul good rest!" BONNY BARBARA ALLAN Was first published in Ramsay's _Tea-Table Miscellany_, (ii. 171,) from which it is transferred verbatim into Herd's _Scottish Songs_, Johnson's _Museum_, Ritson's _Scottish Songs_, &c. Percy printed it, "with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy," _Reliques_, iii. 175, together with another version, which follows the present. Mr. G. F. Graham, _Songs of Scotland_, ii. 157, has pointed out an allusion to the "little Scotch Song of _Barbary Allen_," in Pepys's _Diary_, 2 Jan. 1665-6. It was in and about the Martinmas time, When the green leaves were a falling, That Sir John Graeme in the west country Fell in love with Barbara Allan. He sent his man down through the town, 5 To the place where she was dwelling; "O haste and come to my master dear, Gin ye be Barbara Allan." O hooly, hooly rose she up, To the place where he was lying, 10 And when she drew the curtain by, "Young man, I think you're dying." "O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick, And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan:" "O the better for me ye's never be, 15 Tho' your heart's blood were a spilling. "O dinna ye mind, young man," said she, "When ye was in the tavern a drinking, That ye made the healths gae round and round, And slighted Barbara Allan." 20 He turn'd his face unto the wall, And death was with him dealing; "Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allan." And slowly, slowly raise she up, 25 And slowly, slowly left him; And sighing said, she cou'd not stay, Since death of life had reft him. She had not gane a mile but twa, When she heard the dead-bell ringing, 30 And every jow that the dead-bell geid, It cry'd "Woe to Barbara Allan!" "O mother, mother, make my bed, O make it saft and narrow; Since my love died for me today, 35 I'll die for him tomorrow." BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY. From Percy's _Reliques_, iii. 169. "Given, with some corrections, from an old blackletter copy, entitled, _Barbara Allen's Cruelty, or the Young Man's Tragedy_." In Scarlet towne, where I was borne, There was a faire maid dwellin, Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye! Her name was Barbara Allen. All in the merrye month of May, 5 When greene buds they were swellin, Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay, For love of Barbara Allen.