Murder of Maria Marten Chords by Shirley Collins & The Albion Country Band

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_ If you meet [Db] me at [Eb] the ripple, [Ebm] I'm as sure [Db] as I have [Ebm] life.
I will take you [Db] to [Eb] Ipswich town [Db] and then [Eb] make you my wife.
She's my [Ab] friend, I [Db] long [Eb] fetched his call, and his pick [Db] up then [Eb] displayed.
He went [Ebm] down to [Ab] the fair town [Db] and there [Eb] he dug her hide. _ _ _ _
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_ _ Come, _ heartless young man, take my knee, to think on my unhappy fate, to be hanged upon a tree.
My name _ called her, to you I do declare.
I courted Maria Martin, most beautiful and fair.
_ I prayed I would marry her _ one day, instead of that I was resolved to take her life away.
The
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[Eb] bird whistled the eighteenth [Db] day of May, [Eb] and said,
My dear [Eb] Maria, we will [Db] fix our [Eb] wedding day.
With a heart so [Db] right, she [Eb] thought no harm, to meet me [Db] she did go.
[Eb] I met her for all [Db] in the [Eb] pond, that [Db] later [Eb] party love.
After [Db] a [Eb] deed was done, she lay there [Db] in her pool.
[Eb] Her greed in mind, her [Ab] body [Eb] lay, [Db] beneath the [Eb] red-thorned tree.
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[Db] _ _ _ [Eb] _ Now all things [Db] being [Eb] silent, her spirit [Db] could not rest.
[Eb] She appeared unto her [Db] [Eb] mother, who [Db] suffered [Eb] her at her breast.
For many [Db] a long [Eb] month or more, her mind being [Db] sore oppressed.
[Eb] Neither at [Ab] night, nor [Db] yet by [Eb] day, [Db] could she [Eb] take any rest.
Her mother's mind [Db] being so [Eb] disturbed, she dreamed it [Db] three nights o'er.
[Eb] Her daughter she maimed [Db] and [Ab] buried, [Db] beneath the [Eb] red-thorned floor.
She sent her [Db] father [Eb] to the pond, where he lived [Db] round it rust.
[Eb] And there he found his [Db] daughter, [Eb] lay [Ab] mingling [Eb] with the [Ab] rust.
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_ _ [Db] _ [Eb] _ [Db] _ [Eb] _ I thought I [Db] [Eb] could not stand, the throes of [Db] water's light.
[Eb] When her dear voice was [Db] brought [Eb] to brood, [Db] with fears that [Eb] my heart might.
Her aged [Db] father [Eb] standing by, like wise [Db] his loving wife.
[Eb] And in her grief, her [Db] hair she [Eb] tore, she [Db] fiercely could [Eb] keep [Bbm] tight.
My _ [Db] _ _ _ _ _ _
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glass is almost drunk, and Monday next will be my last,
when I am to be hung. _ _ _
_ Oh, do poor little city, look on me,
poor madrine of that young girl, I was hung upon a tree. _ _ _ _ _ _ _
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