It was a Sunday evening And in the April rain That Charlotte went from our house.
Charlotte walked with Matthew Through the Sunday mist Never saw the razor Waiting at his wrist.
Matthew, where is Charlotte, And wherefore has she flown.
Why do you sit so sadly. Your face the colour of clay.
The only sin upon her skin Is that she loved another.'
They took him of to Bodmin, They pulled the prison bell, They smartly sent him up to heaven And dropped him down to hell.
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