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George Collins

[Child 85, trad.]

This song was collected by George Gardiner in 1906 from Henry Stansbridge, Lyndhurst, Hampshire, and published in The Penguin Book of English Folk Songs. In 1960, A.L. Lloyd recorded it unaccompanied for the album A Selection from the Penguin Book of English Folk Songs. As all tracks from this LP it was reissued in 2003 on the CD England & Her Traditional Songs. Lloyd wrote in the album's sleeve notes:

This song means more than it says. Other variants make it clear that the vivid girl with the fatal kiss is a water-fairy, jilted and out for revenge. The theme has spread throughout Europe and has reached America, but there the meaning is lost, and the supernatural lover and the girl who mourns for Collins become one person, making the story banal. Our set, obtained by George Gardiner from Henry Stansbridge of Lyndhurst, Hamps, represents a halfway stage in the song's life. The mystery is there but some clues are missing, and the story is all the more dreamlike in consequence.

Shirley Collins recorded this song too in 1967 for her LP The Sweet Primeroses. She commented in the sleeve notes:

Of all the ballads I have heard, none has really chilled me like this one. Originally it concerned a mortal man who became a lover of a water-sprite. He leaves her, and in revenge she kills him with a poisoned kiss. Several girls die of sorrow. The effectiveness of the ballad comes partly from the matter-of-fact manner in which the characters accept their fate, and the way the death of six girls hints at George Collins' great attractiveness. Peter Kennedy had this from Enos White in Sussex.

This recording was also included in the Topic sampler Folk Songs: A Collection of Ballads & Broadsides and on her anthologies Fountain of Snow and Within Sound. A version recorded live in Dublin in 1978 is on the CD Harking Back.

Tony Rose sang George Collins on his last record, the CD Bare Bones.

Lyrics

A.L. Lloyd sings George Collins

George Collins walked out one May morning
When May was all in bloom.
There he espied a fair pretty maid
A-washing her marble stone.

She whooped, she hollered, she highered her voice,
She held up her lily-white hand.
“Come hither to me, George Collins,” she said,
“For your life shall not last you long.”

He put his foot on the broad water side,
And over the lea sprung he.
And he embraced her around the middle so small,
And kissed her red rosy 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 around my head.”

“And if I should chance to die this night,
As I suppose I shall,
Bury me under that marble stone
That's against fair Eleanor's hall.”

Fair Eleanor sat in her room so fine,
Working her silken skein.
And she saw the fairest corpse a-coming
That ever the sun shone on.

She said unto her Irish maid:
“Whose corpse is this so fine?”
“This is George Collins' corpse a-coming,
That once was a true lover of thine.”

“Come put him down, my six pretty lads,
And open his coffin so fine,
That I might kiss his lily-white lip,
For ten thousand times he has kissed mine.”

“You go upstairs and fetch me the sheet
That's wove with the silver twine,
And hang that over George Collins' head.
Tomorrow it shall hang over mine.”

The news was carried to London town,
And wrote on London gate,
That six pretty maids died all of one night,
And all for George Collins' sake.

Shirley Collins sings George Collins

George Collins rode out on a May morning
When May was all in bloom.
And there he saw a pretty fair maid
A-washing her white marble stone.

She called, she hollered, she highered her voice,
She waved her lily-white hand.
“Come hither to me, George Collins,” she cried,
“For your life it won't last you long.”

He put his foot on the broad water side,
Over the lea sprung he.
He embraced her around the middle so small,
And kissed her red rosy cheeks.

George Collins rode home to his father's door,
He pulled on the bell and it rang.
“Rise up, mother, to make my bed,
Rise, sister, and let me in.”

“For if I should die this night,
As I suppose I shall,
Bury me by the marble stone
That's against Lady Eleanor's hall.”

Lady Eleanor sat in her castle door,
Weaving her silken skein.
She saw the fairest corpse a-coming
That ever her eyes shone on.

She said unto her serving maid:
“Whose corpse is that so fine?”
The girl replied, “It's George Collins's corpse,
An olden true lover of thine.”

“Come set him down, my six pretty maids,
Throw open the coffin so fine,
That I might kiss them clay-cold lips,
Ten thousand times they have met mine.”

“You go upstairs and fetch me the sheet
That's wove of the silk so fine,
And hang it over George Collins's corpse.
But tomorrow shall hang over mine.”

Now the news been carried to London town,
And hung upon London's gates,
That six pretty maids died all of one night,
And all for George Collins's sake.

Tony Rose sings George Collins

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.