George Collins walked out on a May morning
When May was all in bloom;
There he espied a fair pretty maid
Washing her marble stone.
O she's whooped and she's hollered, she's highered her voice,
Held up her lily-white hands,
"Come hither to me, George Collins," she said,
"For your life shall not last you long."
He set his foot on the broad water side,
O'er the lea sprung he;
He embraced her 'round the middle so small,
Kissed her red ruby cheeks.
George Collins rode home to his father's own gate,
"Rise, mother, and make my bed,
And I will trouble my dear sister
For a napkin to tie '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 sat in her room so fine
Working her silken skein.
She saw the finest corpse a-coming
That ever the sun shone on.
And she said unto her Irish maid,
"Whose corpse is this so fine?"
"That is George Collins's corpse a-coming,
That once was a true love of thine."
"O come lower him down, my six pretty lads,
And open the coffin so fine
That I might kiss those lily-white lips;
Ten thousand times they have kissed mine.
And go you upstairs and fetch me the sheet
That's wove with the silken twine.
Hang it over George Collins's head,
Tomorrow it'll hang over mine."
And the news was carried to fair London town,
Wrote on London's gate:
Six pretty maids died all in one night,
And all for George Collins's sake.