Classic Poem

It's of a merchant's daughter,
In London town did dwell,
She was modest, fair and handsome
And her parents loved her well.
She was admired by lords and squires,
It was their hopes in vain,
For there was one, 'twas a farmer's son
Poor Mary's heart could gain.

Long time young William courted her
And fixed the wedding day,
Their parents all consented
But her brothers both did say,
‘There lives a lord shall pledge the word
And him she shall not shun,
For we will betray and then we'll slay
Her constant farmer's son.’

A fair was held not far from town,
Those brothers went straightway.
They asked young William's company
With them to pass the day.
But mark! returning home again
They swore his race was run,
Then with a stick the life did take
Of the constant farmer's son.

Those villains soon returned home.
‘O sister,’ they did say,
‘Pray think no more of your false love
But let him go his way.
For it is the truth we tell in love
He's fallen with some other one,
Therefore we came to tell the same
Of your constant farmer's son.’

As on the pillow Mary laid
She dreamed a dreadful dream.
She dreamed she saw his body laying
Down by some crystal stream.
Young Mary rose, put on her clothes,
For to seek her love did run.
Then dead and cold she did behold
Her constant farmer's son.

Her dream she felt was realised,
As on his face she gazed;
She sat down by his body cold
With wonder sore amazed.
She gathered leaves all from the trees,
To keep him from the sun,
One night and day she passed away
With the constant farmer's son.

But hunger it came creeping on,
Poor girl, she shaked with woe.
For to find out his murderer
She straightway home did go,
Crying, ‘Parents dear, you soon shall hear
What a dreadful deed is done.
In the yonder vale lying dead and pale
My constant farmer's son.’

Up came her oldest brother
And he said, ‘It is not me.’
The same replied the younger one
And he swore most bitterly.
Young Mary said, ‘Don't turn so red
Nor try the laws to shun;
You've a-done the deed and you shall bleed
For my constant farmer's son.’
These villains soon they owned their guilt
And for the same did die.
Young Mary fair in deep despair
And never ceased to cry.
Their parents they did fade away,
The glass of life was run.
Young Mary cried, in sorrow died
For the constant farmer's son.