Pretty Polly & False William- Adams (VA) 1957 Paul Clayton REC
[From Cumberland Mountain Folksongs, sung by Paul Clayton, New York, Folkways Records, FA2007; 1957. Finley Adams was James Taylor Adam's first cousin, and James was a noted collector or ballads and songs in the Wise County, Virginia area. It's likely that Finley's ballads was learned from another source.
Liner notes follow.
R. Matteson 2014]
SIDE 2, Band 2:
(Child #4)
PRETTY POLLY AND FALSE WILLIAM
This ballad is one of the most widely circulated in the western world, being as well known to the southern locations of Europe as it is to the northern. As a result, the ballad has been subjected to extensive study, with major contributions to its analysis having been made by scholars from various countries. The Finnish scholar, Dr. Ivar Kemppinen, made the most detailed analysis possible of this ballad, and came to the conclusion that the ballad probably originated between 1100 and 1200, citing philological and musical evidences in support of his claims. The ballad is still widely known in Europe. In earlier forms of the
ballad, the murderous suitor is an elf (Child includes this ballad under the title "Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight"). In America, as well as in most recently collected British versions, the supernatural character of the lover has disappeared. Mr. Clayton
collected this version from Finlay Adams of Big Laurel, Virginia.
Rise up, rise up, Pretty Polly, he said,
And come go along with me,
And I will take you to the salt sea side
And it's there I'll marry thee.
She mounted herself on a milk white steed,
Sweet William on a dapple grey,
And they rode straightway to the salt sea side
Three hours before it was day.
Light down, light down, Pretty Polly, he said
Light down, light down, said he,
For the sixteen daughters I have drowned here
And the seventeenth you shall be.
Go take your knife and cut those nettles
That stand so close to the brim,
For they Will tangle in my long yellow hair
And stain my snowy, white skin.
He took his knife for to cut those nettles
That stood so close to the brim,
And then pretty Polly with her pale full eyes,
She tossed false William in.
Lie there, lie there, you falsehearted rake,
Lie there in the stead of me,
You said the sixteen daughters you had drowned here,
And the seventeenth you shall be.
She mounted herself on a milk-white steed,
A-leading the dapple grey,
And she rode straight back to her old father's house
One hour before it was day.
The little parrot bird met her at the gate
With its clattering tongue did say:
Pretty Polly, pretty Polly, where have you been
That you walk so long before day.
Hush up, hush up, my little parrot bird,
And tell no tales on me,
And your cage shall be made of a yellow beaten gold,
And hung on an ivory tree.