farewell

An Arab king was sick in his state of decrepitude so that all
hopes of life were cut off. A trooper entered the gate with the good
news that a certain fort had been conquered by the good luck of the
king, that the enemies had been captured and that the whole population
of the district had been reduced to obedience. The king heaved a
deep sigh and replied: 'This message is not for me but for my enemies,
namely the heirs of the kingdom.'

I spent my precious life in hopes, alas!

Cease sorrows now,
for you have done the deed,
lo care hath now consum'd
my carcase quite,
no hope is left
nor help can stand instead,
for doleful death
doth cut off pleasure quite,
yet whilst I hear
the knolling of the bell,
before I die,
I'll sing my faint farewell,
farewell.

Sometimes we remember kisses,
Remember the dear heart-leap when they came:
Not always, but sometimes we remember
The kindness, the dumbness, the good flame
Of laughter and farewell.
Beside the road
Afar from those who said "Good-by" I write,
Far from my city task, my lawful load.

Sun in my face, wind beside my shoulder,
Streaming clouds, banners of new-born night
Enchant me now. The splendors growing bolder
Make bold my soul for some new wise delight.

I write the day's event, and quench my drouth,

OH, the moon shines bright, and we sail to-night,
And we’re bound for Sourabaya!
So it’s ‘Farewell, Jane!’ for we’re off again
With the turning of the tide!
Oh, the Java girls haven’t got no curls,
But they’ll meet us on the Praya,
And, Malay or Dutch, well, the odds ain’t much,
And the ocean’s deep and wide!

We’re bound for Sourabaya, boys,
Where the girls are kind and brown!
By the break of day we’ll be far away!
Farewell to Sydney town!

Farewell to old England for ever,
Farewell to my rum culls as well,
Farewell to the well-known Old Bailey.
Where I used for to cut such a swell.

Chorus
Singing, too-ral, li-ooral, li-addity,
Singing, too-ral, li-ooral, li-ay,
Singing, too-ral, li-ooral, li-addity,
Singing, too-ral, li-ooral, li-ay.

There's the captain as is our commander,
There's the bo'sun and all the ship's crew,
There's the first- and the second-class passengers,
Knows what we poor convicts goes through.

'Twas about the beginning of the present century,
Bill Bowls was pressed, and sent to sea;
And conveyed on board the Waterwitch without delay,
Scarce getting time to bid farewell to the villagers of Fairway ·

And once on board the "Waterwitch," he resolved to do his duty,
And God willing, he'd marry Nelly Blyth, the village beauty;
And he'd fight for Old England, like a jolly British tar,
But he'd think of Nelly Blyth during the war.

The poor fellow little imagined what he had to go through,

HERE is my last good-bye,
This side the sea.
Good-bye! good-bye! good-bye!
Love me, remember me.

This is my last good-bye,
This side the sea.
I bless, I pledge, I cling,
Love me, remember me.

This is my last good-bye
To each dear tree,
To every silent plain,
Love me, remember me.

This is my last good-bye,
This side the sea.
O friends! O enemies!
Love me, remember me.

In Scarlet town, where I was born,
   There was a fair maid dwellin',
Made every youth cry Well-a-way!
   Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,
   When green buds they were swellin',
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,
   For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man in to her then,
   To the town where she was dwellin',
'O haste and come to my master dear,
   If your name be Barbara Allen.'

So slowly, slowly rase she up,
   And slowly she came nigh him,

Balow, my babe, lie still and sleep!
It grieves me sore to see thee weep.
Wouldst thou be quiet I'se be glad,
Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad:
Balow my boy, thy mother's joy,
Thy father breeds me great annoy--
   Balow, la-low!

When he began to court my love,
And with his sugred words me move,
His faynings false and flattering cheer
To me that time did not appear:
But now I see most cruellye
He cares ne for my babe nor me--
   Balow, la-low!

Lie still, my darling, sleep awhile,

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merrye month of May,
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man unto her then,
To the town, where shee was dwellin;
You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,
And ore his hart is stealin: