Classic Poem

Come all you young fellows that follow the gun,
Beware of goin' a-shootin' by the late setting sun.
It might happen to anyone as it happened to me,
To shoot your own true love in-under a tree.

She was going to her uncle's, when the shower it came on,
She went under a bush, the rain for to shun.
With her apron all around her, I took her for a swan
And I levelled my gun and I shot Molly Ban.

I ran to her uncle's in haste and great fear,
Saying Uncle, dear Uncle, I've shot Molly dear.
With her apron all around her I took her for a swan,
But oh and alas! it was my Molly Ban.

I shot my own true love — alas I'm undone,
While she was in the shade by the setting of the sun;
If I thought she was there I'd caress her tenderly,
And soon I'd get married to my own dear Molly.

My curses on you, Toby, that lent me your gun
To go out a-shooting by the late setting sun,
I rubbed her fair temples and found she was dead;
A fountain of tears for my Molly I shed.

Up comes my father and his locks they were grey,
Stay in your own country and don't run away,
Stay in your own country till your trial comes on,
And I'll see you set free by the laws of the land.

Oh the maids of this country they will all be very glad
When they hear the sad news that my Molly is dead.
Take them all in their hundreds, set them all in a row,
Molly Ban she shone above them like a mountain of snow.