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 that you have been gone
And let me hear complaints about you
At when you do come home
Now our Savior walked down yonder town
As far as the holy, well
And there he met three of the finest
That ever any could tell
Good morn, good morn, good morn, they
Good morning, then he, said he
Now of you three fine children
Will play at with me
Oh we are and ladies sons
in a bowery hall
And you are but a child
in an oxen 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 they were all three
The ball and the downward ball
Their mothers did wail and squall
Saying, mild, fetch home your child
For are drownded all
Then Mary mild picked a of withies
And laid our savior across her knee
And with that handful of withy
She him slashes three
Oh be to the bitter withy
That has me to smart, to smart
And that shall be the first tree
That shall perish right at the
by MaColl & Lloyd- English & Scottish Ballads; Roberts &
Barrand - Nowell Sing We
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