Cat. #1390 (MFH #536) - As sung by Joan O'Bryant, Wichita, Kansas on
VERSE 1
Down in London gardens
Where me an' my love did meet
There we sat an' courted
Till my love dropped off to sleep
I had a bottle of burglars wine
Which my true love did not know
And there I poisoned my own true love
Down uner the banks below
VERSE 2
I drew a saber thru her
Which were a bloody knife
I threw her into th river
Which were a dreadful sight
My Father always had told me
That money would set me free
If I would murder that pretty little Miss
Whose name was Rose Connelly
VERSE 3
But now, he sits in his own cottage door
A wipein' his weepin eyes
A gazin' at his only son
Upon th scaffold high
My race is run beneath th sun
And hell is a wating, for me
For I did murder that pretty little Miss
Whose name was Rose Connelly