[Pretty Polly] Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight- Sung by Mrs. Joe Vanhook, Berea College, Madison County, Ky., May 20, 1917.
[My title, replacing the generic Lady Isabel. Collected by Cecil Sharp, version F, published in EFSSA 1917 and also in Sharp and Karpeles, 1932.]
LADY ISABEL AND THE ELF KNIGHT- Mrs. Joe Vanhook, Berea College, Madison County, Ky., May 20, 1917; Sharp F
Come rise you up, my pretty Polly,
And go along with me.
I'll take you to the North Scotland,
And married we will be.
Go bring me a bag of your father's gold,
Likewise your mother's fee,
And two of the best horses that stand in the stall,
For there stand thirty and three.
She brought him a bag of her father's gold,
Likewise her mother's fee,
And two of the best horses that stand in the stall,
For there stand thirty and three.
She lit upon her nimble going brown,
[He] mounted the dapple grey,
And when they reached the North Scotland
Just three hours before the day.
Light you down, light you down, my pretty Polly,
Light you down at my command.
Six kings' daughters here have I drowned,
And the seventh you shall be.
Pull off, pull off those fine gay clothes,
And hang on yonder tree,
For they are too fine and they cost too much
For to rest in the salt lake sea.
Go get those sickles for to cut those nettles
That grow so close to the brine,
For they may tangle in my long, yellow hair,
And stain my snowy white skin.
He got those sickles for to cut those nettles
That grow so close to the brine;
And poor, kind Polly with a pitifully wish
And shoved false Wilfiam in.
Lie there, lie there, you low William,
Lie there in the room of me.
Six kings' daughters you here have drowned,
And you the seventh shall be.
Hush up, hush up, you pretty parrot bird,
Tell none of your tales on me.
Your cage shall be made of the yellow beating gold,
And your doors of ivory.
Up speaks, up speaks that good old man
In his rook wherever he be:
What's the matter, what's the matter with my pretty parrot bird,
She's talking so long before it is day?
Here sits three cats at my cage door,
My life expecting to betray;
I was just calling up my pretty, golden bee
For to drive those cats away.
--------------------------------
Bronson No. 99 [ABCNotation. com]
T:Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight
C:Trad
B:Bronson
O:Sharp MSS., 3702/2754. Also in Sharp and Karpeles, I932,
O:I, pp. I0(F)-II. Sung by Mrs. Joe Vanhook, Berea College,
O:Madison County, Ky., May 20, I9I7.
N:Versions of "The House Carpenter" (Child #243) resemble this tune.
M:4/4
L:1/4
K:Gdor
c | d d f =e | d d/d/ G G |
c c/d/ =e e | d3 B/c/ | d d c B |
G G/F/ D G | c c d/c/ A | G3 |]
W:
W:Come rise you up, my pretty Polly,
W:And go along with me.
W:I'll take you to the North Scotland,
W:And married we will be.
W:
W:Go bring me a bag of your father's gold,
W:Likewise your mother's fee,
W:And two of the best horses that stand in the stall,
W:For there stand thirty and three.
W:
W:She brought him a bag of her father's gold,
W:Likewise her mother's fee,
W:And two of the best horses that stand in the stall,
W:For there stand thirty and three.
W:
W:She lit upon her nimble going brown,
W:[He] mounted the dapple grey,
W:And when they reached the North Scotland
W:Just three hours before the day.
W:
W:Light you down, light you down, my pretty Polly,
W:Light you down at my command.
W:Six kings' daughters here have I drowned,
W:And the seventh you shall be.
W:
W:Pull off, pull off those fine gay clothes,
W:And hang on yonder tree,
W:For they are too fine and they cost too much
W:For to rest in the salt lake sea.
W:
W:Go get those sickles for to cut those nettles
W:That grow so close to the brine,
W:For they may tangle in my long, yellow hair,
W:And stain my snowy white skin.
W:
W:He got those sickles for to cut those nettles
W:That grow so close to the brine;
W:And poor, kind Polly with a pitifully wish
W:And shoved false Wilfiam in.
W:
W:Lie there, lie there, you low William,
W:Lie there in the room of me.
W:Six kings' daughters you here have drowned,
W:And you the seventh shall be.
W:
W:Hush up, hush up, you pretty parrot bird,
W:Tell none of your tales on me.
W:Your cage shall be made of the yellow beating gold,
W:And your doors of ivory.
W:
W:Up speaks, up speaks that good old man
W:In his rook wherever he be:
W:What's the matter, what's the matter with my pretty parrot bird,
W:She's talking so long before it is day?
W:
W:Here sits three cats at my cage door,
W:My life expecting to betray;
W:I was just calling up my pretty, golden bee
W:For to drive those cats away.