Digital Tradition Mirror

Young Sailor Cut Down in His Prime

Young Sailor Cut Down in His Prime

One day as I strolled down by the Royal Albion
Cold was the morning and wet was the day
When who did I meet but one of my shipmates
Wrapped up in flannel yet colder than clay

  Then beat the drum lowly
  And play the fife merrily
  Sound the dead march as you carry him on
  Take him to the churchyard
  And throw the earth over him
  For he's a young sailor cut down in his prime

He asked for a candle to light him to bed,
Likewise a flannel to wrap round his head,
For his poor head was aching,
His poor heart was breaking,
And he was a sailor crt down in his prime.
His  poor Old father, his good old mother
Oft-times had told  him about his past life
When along with those flash girls

His money he squandered,
And along with those flash girls
He took his own life.

And now he is dead and he lay in his coffin,
Six jolly sailors to carry him along,
Six jolly maidens shall carry white roses,
Not for to smell him as you pass him by.

On the top of the street you will see two girls standing,
One to the other they whispered and said:
Here comes the young man whose money we squandered,
Here comes the young sailor cut down in his prime.

On the top of his headstone you'll see these words written,
All you young men take a warning by me
And never go courting with the girls in the city,
Flash girls of the city were the ruin of me.

Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!

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