Luyện nghe bài hát Bitter Withy

BITTER
As it fell out on a holiday
rain from the sky did fall
Sweet Jesus of his own mother dear
Whether he might at ball
To play, to play, dear she did say
time that you have been gone
And don't let me complaints about you
At night you do come home
Now our Savior walked into yonder town
As far as the holy, holy
And there he met three of the children
That any tongue could tell
morn, good morn, good morn, said they
Good morning, said he, said he
Now of you three fine children
Will play at ball me
Oh we are and ladies sons
Born in a hall
And you are but a maiden's
Born in an stall
Now our savior built a with the beams of the sun
and the water ran he, ran he
And the jolly children followed after him
And drowned were all three
The ball and the downward ball
mothers they did wail and squall
Saying, Mary mild, fetch home child
For ours are all
Mary mild picked a handful of withies
And laid our dear savior her knee
And with that of withy twigs
She him slashes three
Oh be to the bitter withy
That has me to smart, to smart
And that be the very first tree
That shall right at the heart
recorded by MaColl & Lloyd- English & Scottish Ballads; &
Barrand - Nowell We Clear
BITWITHY
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