| This pretty young boy came from the Northlands
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| And he came a-wooing me
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| And he promised he’d take me down by the Northland
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| And there he’d marry me
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| «And go get some more your mama’s own gold
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| And more of your daddy’s fee
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| And two o' the best horses from out your stable door
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| Where there were thirty and three.»
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| They rode down 'til they come to the north strand
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| For to watch all the old waves a-going by
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| «And get it down, get it down, pretty Polly,» he cried
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| «Get it down, get it down,» cried he
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| «For it’s six pretty babes I have drownded here
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| And the seventh one you shall be!
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| Your silks and your satins, you must take them off
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| And deliver them all unto me."
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| «If it’s my silks and my satins, I must take them off
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| Please turn your back unto me.»
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| And he turned his back unto the north strand
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| For to watch all the old waves a-going by
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| And she clipped him 'round by the middle so small
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| And she flung him right into the deep
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| And he swum high, and he swum low
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| And he swum 'til he come to the seashore
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| «For one hold of your hand, pretty Polly,» he cried
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| «Sure as sentence I’ll make you my bride!»
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| «And I’d stop where you are, you false-hearted young man
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| And I’d stop where you are,» cried she
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| «For I think you have been too big a blagard
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| For a naked young woman like me.»
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| And she mounted 'pon her milk-white steed
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| And she led the old dapple grey
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| And she rode down 'til she come to her father’s hall-door
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| It was three long hours 'fore day
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| «What ails you, what ails you,» her father he cried
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| «What have you home before day?»
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| «Hold tongue, hold tongue,» pretty Polly she cried
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| «Do not tell any tales by me;
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| For your cage shall be made of the glittering gold
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| And your door of the grand ivory!» |