"Get down, get down, Love Henry," she cried.
"And stay all night with me.
I have gold chains, and the finest I have
I'll apply them all to thee."

"I can't get down and I shan't get down,
Or stay all night with thee.
Some pretty little girl in Cornersville
I love far better than thee."

He laid his head on a pillow of down.
Kisses she gave him three.
With a penny knife that she held in her hand
She murdered mortal he.

"Get well, get well, Love Henry, " She cried,
"Get well, get well," said she.
"Oh don't you see my own heart's blood
Come flowin' down so free?"

She took him by his long yellow hair,
And also by his feet.
She plunged him into well water, where
It runs both cold and deep.

"Lie there, lie there, Love Henry," she cried,
"Til the flesh rots off your bones.
Some pretty little girl in Cornersville
Will mourn for your return."

"Hush up, hush up, my parrot," she cried,
"And light on my right knee.
The doors to your cage shall be decked with gold
And hung on a willow tree."

"I won't fly down, I can't fly down
And light on your right knee.
A girl who would murder her own true love
Would kill a little birdlike me."

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): BOB DYLAN, TRADITIONAL