Luyện nghe bài hát Bitter Withy

BITTER
As it fell out on a high
Small from the sky did fall
Sweet asked of his own mother dear
Whether he might play at
To play, to play, dear she did say
It's time that you been gone
And don't let me complaints about you
At when you do come home
Now our Savior walked down yonder town
As far as the holy, well
And he met three of the finest children
That any tongue could tell
Good morn, morn, good morn, said they
morning, then said he, said he
Now which of you fine children
play at ball with me
Oh we are lords and sons
Born in a bowery
And you are but a child
Born in an stall
Now our built a bridge with the beams of the sun
and the water ran he, ran he
And the three jolly children after him
And drowned they were all
The ball and the downward ball
Their mothers they did and squall
Saying, Mary mild, fetch home child
For ours are all
Then Mary mild picked a of withies
And laid our dear across her knee
And with that of withy twigs
She gave him slashes
Oh be to the bitter withy
That has me to smart, to smart
And that shall be the very first
That shall perish at the heart
recorded by MaColl & Lloyd- & Scottish Ballads; Roberts &
Barrand - Nowell Sing We
BITWITHY
play.exe
SF
===DOCUMENT