Luyện nghe bài hát Bitter Withy

BITTER
As it fell out on a holiday
Small rain from the sky did
Jesus asked of his own mother dear
Whether he play at ball
To play, to play, dear she did say
It's time that you been gone
And don't let me hear complaints you
At when you do come home
Now our Savior walked into yonder town
As far as the holy, well
And there he met three of the children
That ever any tongue could
Good morn, good morn, morn, said they
Good morning, said he, said he
Now which of you fine children
Will at ball with me
Oh we are lords and sons
in a bowery hall
And you are but a child
in an oxen stall
Now our built a bridge with the beams of the sun
and the water ran he, ran he
And the three jolly followed after him
And drowned were all three
The upward and the downward ball
mothers they did wail and squall
Saying, Mary mild, fetch home child
For are drownded all
Then mild picked a handful of withies
And our dear savior across her knee
And that handful of withy twigs
She gave him slashes
Oh cursed be to the withy
has caused me to smart, to smart
And that shall be the very tree
That perish right at the heart
recorded by MaColl & Lloyd- English & Ballads; Roberts &
- Nowell Sing We Clear
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