Down in the willow garden where me and my love did meet   There we sat a-courting my love fell off to sleep   I had a bottle of burgundy wine which my true love did not know   And there I poisoned that dear little girl down by the banks below      I drew my saber through her which was a bloody knife   I threw her in the river which was an awful sight   My father often told me that money would set me free   If I would murder that dear little miss whose name was Rose Connelly      Now he sits by his old cabin door a wiping his tear-brimmed eyes   Mourning for his only son out on the scaffold high   My race is run beneath the sun the devil is waiting for me   For I did murder that dear little girl whose name was Rose Connelly