Текст песни Misc Traditional - Wild Wild Berry

Played slowly and methodically.

Young man comes from hunting faint and weary
"What does ail my lord, my dearie?"
"O Mother dear, let my bed be made
For I feel the gripe of the woody nightshade.

Now you young men all who do eat full well
And they that sup right merry
'Tis far better, I entreat,
To have toads for your meat
Than to eat of the wild, wild berry

This young man he died eftsoon
By the light of a hunters' moon
'Twas not by bolt, nor yet by blade
But the deathly gripe of the woody nightshade

This lord's false love, they hanged her high
For her deeds were the cause of her love to die
And in her hair they entwined a braid
Of the leaves and the berries of the woody nightshade