| The rain comes down in merry Lincoln
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| So does it down the Pa
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| So does the lads of merry Lincoln
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| when they play at the ball
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| And up and spoke the Jew’s daughter
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| 'Oh, will you come in and dine?'
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| 'I can’t come in, I won’t come in
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| Without my playfairs nine'
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| She’s pulled an apple green and red
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| To lure the young thing in
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| She’s pulled an apple red and green
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| And that the sweet bairn did win
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| She’s taken out her wee penknife
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| Hung low down by her gore
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| She’s twined the young thing of his life
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| And word he never spoke more
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| And out and come thick, thick blood
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| And out and come the thin
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| And out and come the bonny heart’s blood
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| there was no life left in
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| When bells were run and mass was sung
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| Went every lady home
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| And every lady had her young son
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| But lady Helen she had none
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| She wrapped her mantle her about
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| And sore began to weep
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| And she’s run up to the Jew’s draw well
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| Was fifty fathoms deep
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| 'My bonny Hugh, my dear Sir Hugh
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| I pray you to me speak'
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| 'Oh lady, run to the deep draw well
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| If you you only son would seek'
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| So she’s run up to the deep draw well
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| And knelt down on her knee
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| 'My bonny Hugh, my dear Sir Hugh
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| I pray you speak to me'
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| 'The lead is wondrous heavy mother
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| The well is wondrous deep
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| A keen penknife sticks in my heart
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| And a word I dare not speak
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| 'Go home, go home my mother dear
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| And fetch my winding sheet
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| And at the back of merry Lincoln
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| It’s there we two shall meet
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| 'Go home, go home my mother dear
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| And fetch my winding sheet
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| And bury me in the sepulchre
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| With the Bible at my feet' |