Along the North Strand

A pretty young boy come from the North Strand He came a wooing to me He promised he'd bring me down by the North Strand And there he'd marry me O, get some of your mother's fee for me And more of your daddy's gold And two of the best horses he have in his stable Where there are thirty three O, she got some of her mother's fee And more of her daddy's gold And two of the best horses he have in his stable Where there are thirty three And she got up on her milk white steed And he on his dappled grey And they rode along on to the North Strand Was three long hours before day Get down, get down, pretty Polly he says O, get down, and get down to me 'Tis six little girls that I drowned in here And you are the seventh shall be Your silks and your satins, you must take them off Deliver them upon to me I think they're too rich and too grand, says he To roll in the bright rocky waves My silks, my satins, I must take them off Please turn your back to me I think you're too big of a ruffian, says she To see a naked woman like me He turned his back on the fore of the North Strand To watch on the waves going by She gripped him around the middle so high And flung him right into the deep O he swam high and he swam low Until he swam to the sea shore Put out, o, your hand, pretty Polly, he says And sentence I'll make you my bride O, stop where you are, my cruel hearted lad O, stop where you are, said she There's six little girls that you drowned in there And you are the seventh shall be O, she got up on her milk white steed And she leaded her dappled grey And she rode along to her father's hall door Was three long hours before day O, the parrot is up in the window so high I'm a fear'd it'll come down upon me Please turn your tales, pretty Polly, she says Don't tell any tales unto me For I have your cage of the glitter and gold And your door of the best ivory Who's that? Who's that? the father did say That's pattering so long before day It's no laughing matter, the parrot did say It is no laughing matter for me For the cats they are up in the window so high I've a fear they'll come down upon me Don't turn your tales, pretty Polly, she says Return your tales upon me For I have your cage of the glitter and gold And your door of the best ivory