Luyện nghe bài hát Bitter Withy

BITTER
As it out on a high holiday
Small rain the sky did fall
Sweet Jesus asked of his own mother
Whether he might at ball
To play, to play, child she did say
It's time you have been gone
And don't let me hear complaints you
At when you do come home
Now our walked down into yonder town
As far as the holy, well
And he met three of the finest children
That any tongue could tell
morn, good morn, good morn, said they
Good morning, then he, said he
Now which of you fine children
Will play at ball me
Oh we are and ladies sons
Born in a hall
And you are but a maiden's
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 they all three
The ball and the downward ball
Their mothers they did and squall
Saying, mild, fetch home your child
For are drownded all
Then Mary mild picked a handful of
And laid our dear across her knee
And with handful of withy twigs
She gave him three
Oh cursed be to the withy
That has me to smart, to smart
And that shall be the very first
That perish right at the heart
recorded by MaColl & Lloyd- English & Ballads; Roberts &
Barrand - Nowell Sing We
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