Oh, mother, dear mother, come tell to me,

voiceCollected by Edwin R. Bethune For Mary C. Parler Transcribed by Frances Majors Sung by Mrs. Pearl Brewer Pocahontas, Arkansas August 1, 1958 Reel 261, Item 1 Lord Thomas (Child 73 ) Oh, mother, dear mother, come tell to me, Although I'd like to roam, Whether to marry Fair Elendor, Or bring the Brown Girl home. The Brown Girl she had house and land, Fair Elendor she has none; My advice would be for you To bring the Brown Girl home. He rode and he rode till he come to the gate, He tingled on the ring; And none so ready but Fair Elendor herself For to rise and let him in, in, in, For to rise and let him in. What news, what news have you brought for me, Lord Thomas? she said; I've come to invite you to my wedding, The very worst news could be. Oh, mother, dear mother, come tell to me, Come tell me kind and true, Whether to go to Lord Thomas' wedding, Or tarry at home with you, you, you, Or tarry at home with you. She dressed herself in scarlet silk, Her ribbon made of green, And every city that she rode through, They taken her to be some queen, queen, queen, They taken her to be some queen. She rode and she rode till she came to the gate, She tingled on the ring; And none was so ready but Lord Thomas himself For to rise and let her in, in, in, For to rise and let her in. He taken her by her lily white hand And led her through the hall, And set her down by his bride's right side, Among the ladies all, all, all, Among the ladies all. Lord Thomas (Cont'd) Reel 261, Item 1 (Cont'd) Lord Thomas, is this your wife That looks so wonderful brown? When you could have got the fairest lady That ever the sun shined on, on, on, That ever the sun shined on. The Brown Girl she has a little pen knife, She keeps both keen and sharp; Between Fair Elendor's long and short ribs, She pierced Fair Elendor's heart, heart, heart She pierced Fair Elendor's heart. He took her by the hand, And led her through the hall, And with a sword cut off her head And pitched it against the wall, wall, wall, And pitched it against the wall. With the handle of the sword against the floor The point against his breast, Here is the parting of three true loves, Lord send their souls to rest, rest, rest, Lord send their souls to rest.Funding for digitization provided by the Arkansas Humanities Council and the Happy Hollow Foundation