Lyrics:

There was a youth and a well-bred youth, he being a squire's son
And he did court an innkeeper's daughter. belonging to North Islington.

Go get me some of your father's gold, part of your mother's fee
And we wil away to some foreign country, and married we will be.

She went down to her father's stable, there stood hordes thirty-three
And she picked out a milk-white steed, and he the silvery grey.

She mounted on the milk-white steed, he on the silvery grey,
And the rode until they came to a riverside, three hours before it was day.

"Alight, alight, my pretty fair maid, alight, alight, cried he,
It's six merchants' daughters I've drownded here, and you the seventh shall be.

Take off, take off that silken gown, and hand it over to me,
For I do think your clothing too good, for to rot in the salt, salt sea."

"If I do take off my silken gown, and hand it over to you,
Why I do think it a very great wrong, a naked woman to view.

I'll take off my silken gown, I'll lay it on the green,
But before that I do, you false young man, you must turn your back on me."

And when he turned his back around, and faced yon willow tree,
With all of the strength this poor maiden had, she shoved him into the sea.

"Lie there, lie there, you false young man, lie there instead of me,
It's six pretty maidens have you drownded here, go keep them good company."

And as he rose and as he sank, and as he rose cried he,
"Oh give me your hand, my pretty pretty Polly, my bride forever you'll be."

She mounted on the milk white steed, she led the silvery grey.
She rode until she cam to her father's house, one hour before it was day.

Now the parrot was hung in the window so high, "Where have you been?" cried he.
"I've been away to Scotland's bridge, Young Henry he lies under the sea."

"Don't prittle, don't prattle, my pretty pretty Polly, don't tell no tales on me,
And you shall have a cage of the very finest gold, and be hung on an ivory tree."