X:5
T:Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight
T:Lady Isobel and the Elf Knight
B:Bronson
O: "Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight." Phillips Barry, JAF,
O:XVIII (1905), pp. I32-33. Also in Phillips Barry, Fannie
O:H. Eckstorm, and Mary W. Smyth, British Ballads from
O:Maine, 1929, p. 24(F). (Hopkinson) Sung by Miss Leslie W.
O:Hopkinson, Cambridge, Mass., May 3I, I904; from family tradition.
M:4/4
L:1/8
K:G
G>G | G2 GG G2 dd |
w:Pret-ty Pol-ly, she moun-ted her
B2 A2 G3 G | G3 G g2 d2 | a6 d2 |
w:milk-white steed, And he the ambl-ing gray, And
e3 f g3 e | de dc B2 d>d | e3 e d2 BA |
w:they came to the broad_ wa-ter side, Full an hour be-fore it was
G2 A2 HB2 d>d | e3 e d2 BA | G6 |]
w:day, day, day, Full an hour be-fore it was day.
W:
W:Pretty Polly, she mounted her milk-white steed,
W:And he the ambling gray,
W:And they came to the broad water side,
W:Full an hour before it was day, day, day,
W:Full an hour before it was day.
W:
W:"Now light you down, Pretty Polly," he said,
W:"Now light you down," said he,
W:"For six Pretty Pollies have I drownded here,
W:And the seventh you shall be."
W:
W:"Take off your clothes, so costly, so fine,
W:And eke your velvet shoon,
W:For I do think your clothing is too good,
W:For to lie in a watery tomb."
W:
W:"Won't you stoop down to pick that brier,
W:That grows so near the brim?
W:For I am afraid it will tangle my hair,
W:And rumple my lily-white skin."
W:
W:So he stooped down to pick that brier,
W:That grew so near the brim,
W:And with all the might that the Pretty Polly had,
W:She did tumble the false knight in.
W:
W:"Lie there, lie there false knight," she said,
W:"Lie there all in my room,
W:For I do not think your clothing is too good,
W:For to lie in a watery tomb!"
W:
W:Pretty Polly, she mounted her milk-white steed,
W:And led the ambling gray,
W:And she came to her father's stable door,
W:Full an hour before it was day.
W:
W:Then up and spoke her pretty parrot,
W:And unto her did say,
W:"Oh, where have you been, my Pretty Polly,
W:So long before it was day?"
W:
W:"Oh, hold your tongue, you prattling bird,
W:And tell no tales of me,
W:And you shall have a cage of the finest beaten gold,
W:That shall hang on the front willow-tree!"
W:
W:Then up and spoke her father dear,
W:And unto the bird did say,
W:"Oh, what makes you talk, my pretty parrot,
W:So long before it is day?"
W:
W:"The old cat came to my cage door,
W:And fain would have eaten me,
W:And I was a-calling to Pretty Polly,
W:To drive the old cat away."