The King's Seven Daughters- Henry (MO) c. 1865 Belden G-b
[From Ballads and Songs; Collected by the Missouri Folk-Lore Society; Belden 1940. Uses the "Lord Lovel" form. This is the first of Belden's two G texts; see also Belden G-a.
R. Matteson 2014]
G. 'The King's Seven Daughters.' 'The Seven King's Daughters.' Two texts, fairly similar, contributed by Mrs. George H. Barnett of Columbia, (a) from Mrs. J. T. Cooper of Warrensburg, who learned it in 1865 or 1866, and (b) from
Mrs. Sarah Henry, who learned it in Saline County about 1865-70.
(b) He followed her up, he followed her down,
And into the chamber where she lay;
She had no wings to fly from his arms
And no tongue to answer nay, nay, nay,
And no tongue to answer nay.
'Go and take of your father's gold,
And a part of your mother's fee,
And two of the finest steeds in your father's stall,
Wherein there's thirty and three.'
She mounted on the milk-white steed
And him on the dell fine gray;
They rode till they came to the fair sea-shore,
Three hours before it was day.
'Now pull off your satin gown
And lay it on my knee,
For it is too fine and costily
To rot in the watery sea.
'Now turn your face unto the leaves
And your back unto the sea;
For here I have drowned six king's daughters,
And you the seventh shall be.'
She turned her face unto the leaves
And her back unto the sea;
She caught him around the middle so strong
And she threw him into the sea.
'Lend. a hand, lend a hand, my pretty Polly,
Lend a hand unto me,' cried he,
'For all the promises I have made unto you
I'll double one to three.'
'Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted young man,
Lie there instead of me;
For here you have drowned six king's daughters,
And you the seventh shall be.'
Then she mounted on the milk-white steed
And led the dell fine gray,
And she rode till she came to her father's gate
One hour before it was day.
Now up speaks the pretty little parrot,
As it sits in its cage:
'Oh, where have you been, oh pretty Polly,
So long before it is day?'
'Hold your tongue, my pretty little parrot,
And tell no tales on me,
And your cage shall be made of the glittering gold
And the doors of ivory.'
Then up speaks the old man,
As he lay in his room:
'Oh, what is the matter, my pretty little parrot,
That you talk so long before day?'
'The cat has come to my cage door
And said it would weary me;
I was calling for my pretty Polly
To come and drive the cat away.'
'Hold your tongue my pretty little parrot,
And talk no more until day,
And your cage shall be made of glittering gold
And the doors of ivory.'