Gin ye be Barbara Allan."
O hooly, hooly[154] rose she up,
To the place where he was lying,
And when she drew the curtain by;—
"Young man, I think you're dying."
"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,
And 't is a' for Barbara Allan."—
"O the better for me ye's never be,
Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.
"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,