Come, all you wild, young people And listen
to the song That I will sing concerning gold, Which guides so many wrong. Young Emma was a servant-maid And loved
a sailor bold, He ploughed the main much gold to gain, For his Love, as we've been told.
Young Emma she did daily
mourn Since Edwin first did roam; When seven years were past and gone, Then Edwin hailed his home. He went unto
young Emma's house The store of gold to show, Which he had gained upon the main Above the Lowlands Low.
Her
father kept a public inn, It stood down by the sea. Says Emma, 'You can enter in And there this night can be. I'll
meet you in the morning, Don't let my parents know, Your name it is young Edwin That ploughed the Lowlands Low.'
As
Emma she lay sleeping She had a frightful dream, She dreamt her Love stood weeping, His blood poured in a stream. She
rose up in the morning And to her friends did go, Because she loved him dearly; That ploughed the Lowlands Low.
'Oh,
mother, where's the stranger lad, Came here last night to stay?' 'Oh, he is dead, no tales can tell;' Her father
he did say. 'Then father, cruel father, You will die a public show For murdering my Edwin, That ploughed the Lowlands
Low.
The fishes of the ocean Swim o'er my lover's breast, His body rolls in motion, I hope his soul at rest, How
cruel were my parents To prove his overthrow, And take the gold from one so bold That ploughed the Lowlands Low.'
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