George Collins- Blake (Hampshire) 1906 Gardiner
[These English versions are directly related to the Johnny Collins versions found in the US (See Bayard's The "Johnny Collins" Version of Lady Alice article) in Virginia, West Virginia and Pennsylvania. The US titles are also "John Collins" or "Young Collins." These are not to be confused with a different unrelated English song titled, "Young Collins."
R. Matteson 2012]
[Songs Collected by George B. Gardiner]
by George B. Gardiner, J. A. Fuller-Maitland, A. G. Gilchrist, Frank Kidson, Ralph Vaughan Williams, Lucy E. Broadwood and Cecil J. Sharp
Journal of the Folk-Song Society, Vol. 3, No. 13 (Jun., 1909), pp. 249-317
SECOND VERSION. [I've added the complete text for this version, not published in this article.]
Noted by J. F. Guyer, L.R.A.M., July 16th, 1906. SUNG BY MR. GEORGE BLAKE (AET. 78),
MIXOLYDIAN ST. DENYS, SOUTHAMPTON.
George Collins walked out one May morning,
When may was all in bloom,
There he espied a fair pretty maid
A - washing her marble stone.
[She whooped, she holloaed, she highered her voice,
And held up her lily-white hand,
"Come hither to me, George Collins," said she,
"For thy life shall not last you long."
George Collins rode home to his father's own gate
And loudly did he ring.
Come rise, my dear father and let me in,
. . . .
Come rise, my dear mother, and make my bed,
All to trouble my dear sister,
For a napkin to bind round my head.
For if I should chance to die this night,
As I suppose I shall,
Bury me under the marble stone,
That's against fair Eleanor's hall."
Fair Eleanor doth sit in her room so fine,
Working the siken skein,
When she saw the fairest corpse a-coming
As ever the sun shone on.
She said unto her Irish maid,
Whose corpse is this so fine?"
"This is George Collins' corpse a-coming,
That once was a true lover of thine."
"You put him down, my pretty fair maids,
And open his coffin so fine;
That I might kiss his lily-white cheek,
For ten thousand times he have kissed mine."
You go upstairs and fetch me the sheet,
That's wove with a silver twine.
And hang that over George Collin's head,
For tomorrow it will hang over mine.
This news was carried to fair London town
And wrote all on fair London's gate,
Six pretty maidens died all of that night,
And all for George Collins' sake.]