Luyện nghe bài hát Bitter Withy

BITTER
As it fell out on a holiday
rain from the sky did fall
Sweet Jesus asked of his own mother
Whether he might at ball
To play, to play, dear she did say
It's that you have been gone
And don't let me complaints about you
At night you do come home
Now our Savior down into yonder town
As far as the holy, well
And there he met three of the finest
That ever any tongue tell
Good morn, good morn, morn, said they
morning, then said he, said he
Now which of you fine children
Will at ball with me
Oh we are lords and ladies
Born in a hall
And you are but a child
in an oxen stall
Now our savior a bridge with the beams of the sun
and over the ran he, ran he
And the three jolly children followed him
And drowned they all three
The upward ball and the ball
Their mothers did wail and squall
Saying, mild, fetch home your child
For ours are all
Mary mild picked a handful of withies
And laid our dear savior across her
And with that handful of withy
She him slashes three
Oh be to the bitter withy
has caused me to smart, to smart
And shall be the very first tree
That shall perish at the heart
recorded by MaColl & Lloyd- & Scottish Ballads; Roberts &
Barrand - Nowell Sing We
BITWITHY
play.exe
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