Young Edwin - Shanty U.K. Archive

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Young Edwin

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Come all you young people and listen to my song

While I unfold concerning gold, that guides so many wrong,
Young Emma was a servant maid and lov'd a sailor,
He plough'd the main much gold to gain for his love (as we are told).

Young Emma she did daily mourn since Edwin first did roam,
Now seven years were past and gone when Edwin hail'd his home;
He went unto young Emma's house to her the gold to show,
What he did gain upon the main, and above the low lands low.

Her father kept a public inn- it stood down by the sea-
Said Emma you can enter in and there this night can be
I'll meet you in the morning- don't let my parents know
Your name it is young Edwin, that plough'd the lowlands low.

Young Edwin he sat drinking till time to go to bed
And little was he thinking what sorrow crown'd his head,
Said Emma's cruel father his gold will make a show !
We will send his body sinking down in the lowlands low.

As Emma lay a sleeping she had such frightful dreams
She dreamt her love stood weeping, and blood appear'd in streams;
She started up ere day-break and to her friends did go
Because she loved him dearly that plough'd the lowlands low.

Oh, mother ! where's the stranger came here last night to lay?
He's dead; and so no tales can tell- her father he did say,
Then father, cruel father, you'll die a public show,
For murdering my Edwin thats down in the lowlands low.

Said Emma I will wander down by the stormy wave
Where Edwin he lays under, who once the sea did brave;
The shells that's in the ocean are rolling to and fro,
Reminds me of my Edwin that's down in the lowlands low.

The fishes of the ocean may swim o'er my love's breast,
His body rolls in motion- I hope his soul's at rest;
How cruel were my parents to prove his overthrow,
And take the gold from one so bold that's down in the lowlands low.

So many a day she pass'd away to try to ease her mind
Crying, O my friend and love's gone, and am left behind,
And frantic, broken-hearted, to Bedlam forced to go,
Poor Emma, for her lover down in the lowlands low.

J. Catnach, printer; between 1813-1838, in Bodleian Collection.

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