DARLING BETSY GRAY 
In Granshaw she was born and reared, Near to the Ards new town -With twinkling eyes and golden curls, She was the pride of Down; 
You'd go the whole of Erin's Isle, And search by night and day -But never would you find the like, Of darling Betsy Gray. 
'Twas on the thirteenth day of June, That year of Ninety-Eight -The pikes turned out 'gainst Ballynahinch, To better free men's fate; 
The bravest of the Hearts of Down, Amidst the gory fray -With dashing steed and flashing blade, Was darling Betsy Gray. 
But English muskets said their piece, They cut the Irish down -And Freedom's dreams lay cold and dead, Before the Butcher's Crown; 
Her sweetheart, Willie Boal, cried out: My love, we must away -No Redcoat e'er shall lay a hand, On darling Betsy Gray. 
At Armstrong's farm at Ballycreen, The Yeos upon them fell -They murdered Betsy, Willie too, Her brother George as well; 
Now in that vale of Ballycreen, Green bushes wave and sway -And only black oak marks the grave, Of darling Betsy Gray.  

Irish Song Lyrics 
from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk