Luyện nghe bài hát Bitter Withy

BITTER
As it fell out on a high
Small rain from the sky did
Sweet Jesus of his own mother dear
Whether he might at ball
To play, to play, child she did say
time that you have been gone
And don't let me hear complaints you
At night when you do come
Now our Savior walked down into town
As far as the holy, well
And he met three of the finest children
ever any tongue could tell
Good morn, good morn, good morn, they
Good morning, then he, said he
Now of you three fine children
play at ball with me
Oh we are and ladies sons
Born in a hall
And you are but a child
Born in an stall
Now our savior built a bridge 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 downward
Their mothers they did wail and
Saying, Mary mild, home your child
For ours are all
Then Mary picked a handful of withies
And our dear savior across her knee
And with that of withy twigs
She gave him slashes
Oh cursed be to the bitter
That has me to smart, to smart
And that shall be the very first
That shall perish at the heart
recorded by MaColl & Lloyd- English & Scottish Ballads; &
Barrand - Nowell We Clear
BITWITHY
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