Johnny Doyle, Lyric Variant 03

This item is part of the I. G. Greer Folksong Collection which consists of more than 300 individual song titles and their variants as collected by Isaac Garfield Greer (1881-1967) from informants, primarily in Ashe, Wilkes and Watauga counties. The collection includes manuscripts, typescript transcriptions produced by Dr. Greer’s clerical staff, and handwritten musical notations. Songs range from traditional Child Ballads, traditional English and Scottish ballads as well as their American variants, to 19th century popular music to musical compositions of local origin.

Ballads

Forced marriage--Songs and music

Abusive parents--Songs and music

Lovesickness--Songs and music

Johnny Dye, Johnny Dyers

AC.113 Isaac Garfield (I.G.) Greer Papers and Recordings

W. L. Eury Appalachian Collection, Appalachian State University

Greer, I. G. (Isaac Garfield), 1881-1967

PDF

English

Text

Johnny Dowl

Last Saturday evening way late in the night,
As me and my true love was about to take flight,
My waiting maid a standing by so plainly you may say see,
She run unto my mammy and told upon me.

My mother she led me into my room,
There no one could see me nor no one could come,
She bundled up my clothing and she bid me to be gone
So slowly and still did I slip them on.

Five hundred pounds my Father did provide,
Besides horse and pilions to ride by my side,
And six noble horsemen to ride by my side,
In order to make mxyxe young Samuel Moore's bride.

We rode and we rode till we came to the town,
We rode to Mister Gordens and there we did get down,
We rode to Mister Gordens and there we did light down,
So sore sick and weary my body I found.

As soon as the priest he did enter the door,
My ear rings they bursted and fell to the floor,
My sixty five stay laces in pieces they flew,
I thought my poor heart was a breaking in two.

Behind my own brother they carried me home,
My Mother she led me its into my room,
She led me to my bed side and there I did lay down
So sick, sore and weary my poor body was.

Oh Mother, oh mother, its bar up the door,
Until the break of day, don't let in Samuel Moore
For before this time tomorrow its death shall end all strife,
He never shall enjoy me nor call me his wife.

Oh daughter, oh daughter, shall we send for Johnny Dowl,
Oh mother, oh mother, it's scarcely worth while,
For there is more grief at my heart than my tongue can tell,
And the last words she spoke was “Dear Johnny, fare you well.

Brown, Older Ballads - Mostly British - 129 Randolph, 87 Sharp, 83

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