This pretty young boy,
Came from the Northlands,
And he came a-woo'ing me,
And he promised he'd take me
Down by the northland,
And there he'd marry me.
And go get some of your mother's own gold,
And more of your daddy's fee,
And two of he best horses from out your stable door,
Where there were thirty and three.
They rode down til,
They came to the north strand,
For to watch all the old ways a-going by,
Get it down, Get it down,
Little Polly, he cried
Get it dow, get it down,
Cried he,
For it's six pretty babes,
I've have drowned here,
And the seventh one you shall be.
Your silks and your satins,
You must take them off,
And reliver them unto me,
If it's my silks and my satins,
I must take them off,
Please turn your back unto me.
And he turned his back,
Unto the north strand,
For to watch all the old ways a-going by,
And she clipped him round by the middle so small,
And she flung him right into the deep.
And he swam high, and he swam low,
And he swam til he came to the seashore,
For one hold of your hand,
Pretty polly he cried,
Sure a sentence,
I'll make you my bride.
And it's Stop where you are,
You false-hearted man,
And it's stop where you are, cried she,
For I think you have been to (binga blaggard?),
For a naked young woman like me.
And she mounted upon,
Her milk white steed,
And she led the old dapple grey,
And she rode down,
Til she came to her father's old door,
It was three long hours 'fore day.
And what ails you, what ails you,
Her father, he cried,
What have you home before day?
Hold tongue, hold tongue,
The Polly, she cried,
Do not tell any tales by me,
For your cage shall be made,
Of the glittering gold,
And your door of the grand ivory.