| Lyrics: | George Collins
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
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 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.
Hush up, dear daughter, don't take it so
hard,
There's more pretty hoys 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.
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.
Set down the coffin, lift up tbe lid,
Lay back the sheetings so fine,
And
let me kiss his cold, sweet lips,
For I know he'll never kiss mine.
Child
#85
From English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians, Sharp
Collected from Dora
Shelton, Allanstand, NC, 1916
@death
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GEOCLLNS
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