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Sweet William's Ghost

Cara
Popularity ยท Low
๐Ÿ‡ฌ๐Ÿ‡ง English ยท Original

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Lyrics

Lady Margaret she lay in her fine feather bed, The midnight hour drew near, When the ghostly form came to her head, And to her did appear. Oh are you my father, the king? then she cried or are you my brother John? Or are you my sweet William, Coming home from Scotland alone Coming home from Scotland alone No, I'm not your father, the king, then he cried, Nor i'm not your brother John, But I am your own sweet William, Coming home from Scotland alone Coming home from Scotland alone. Oh Margaret, oh Lady Margaret, he cried, For love or charity, Will you give back to me that plighted troth That once, I gave to thee, oh that once, I gave to thee? No, I'll not give you back that plighted troth Nor any such a thing, Until you take me to my father's hall Where ofttimes we have been, Where ofttimes we have been. Farywell, my own true love call the wind Dust blow Honey hung the moon, it's all the gloom. walk of time i have scholed. So he took her to her father's hall And asked they entered in But the gates flew open of their own free will For to let young William in, For to let young William in. Oh Margaret, oh Lady Margaret, he cried, For love or charity, Would you give back to me that plighted troth That once, I gave to thee, that once, I gave to thee? No, I'll not give you back your plighted troth Nor any such a thing, Until you take me to yon high churchyard And marry me with a ring, And marry me with a ring. Farywell, my own true love call the wind Dust blow Honey hung the moon, it's all the gloom. walk of time i have scholed. So he took her to yon high churchyard And asked they entered in But the gates flew open of their own free will For to let young William in, For to let young William in. Oh Margaret, oh Lady Margaret," he cried, "For love or charity, Would you give back to me that plighted troth That once, I gave to thee, oh that once, I gave to thee?" so she took the troth out from her breast she placed it on his chest, Saying, "Here is your back that plighted troth, And in Heaven may your soul find rest, and in Heaven may your soul find rest. Now the north winds do blow and the moorcocks crow it's almost a break of day, And it's time for the living to depart from the dead, So my darling, and I must away, my darling, I must away. oh young william, my true love are you coming home My girl Margaret, my true love I'm not coming home.