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Yarrow
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There was a lady from the North One scarse could find her marrow She was courted by nine gentlemen And a ploughboy lad from Yarrow These nine sat drinking at the wine As they had done before And they made a vow amongst themselves To fight for her on Yarrow She's combed his hair, she's washed his face As she has done before Gave him a brand down by his side To fight for her on Yarrow Now it's three he's wounded, and three withdrew And three he's killed on Yarrow Till her brother John stepped in behind And pierced his body through Father, dear father, I dreamed, dreamed a dream I fear it will prove sorrow I've dreamed I was pulling the heather bells On the dowy dens of Yarrow
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