The Outlandish Knight Songtext
von James Raynard

An outlandish knight from the northlands a-came
And he′s come a-wooing, a-wooing of me
He's promised to take me into the northland
He′s promised me there we would married be
Oh rise up, rise up, my pretty Polly
Oh rise up, I say unto thee
And go and fetch a bag of your father's gold
And go fetch the sum of your mother's fee

So she′s brought the sum of her father′s gold
And she's brought the sum of her mother′s fee
And two fine horses out of the stable
Where there's a-standing thirty and three
And she mounted on the nimble-going brown
And he upon the dappled grey
And when they came into the northland
It was but three hours, three hours before the day


Light you down, light you down, my pretty Polly
Oh light you down, I say unto thee
For six king′s daughters have I drownded here
And now the seventh will surely be thee
Pull off, pull off them fine and gay clothes
And hang them up there upon the tree
For I think them too fine and too costly
All for to rot in the salt lake sea

Then it's you get the sickle and you cut down the nettle
A-growing so close, so close to the brim
For I fear they will tangle my long yellow hair
I fear they will scratch my lily-white skin
So he got the sickle and he put down the nettle
A-growing so close to the brim
And how they did tangle all in his long hair
And how they did scratch his lily-white skin

And as he′s turned his back, his back on the maid
He's bent low, so low o'er the brim
And she′s picked him up so skilfully
And she has pushed the false knight in
Lie there, lie there, you false young man
Oh lie there all in the room of me
For it′s six king's daughters have you drownded here
But now the seventh has drownded thee


And she mounted on the nimble-going brown
And she has led, led the dappled grey
And when she came to her father′s high hall
It was but three hours, three hours before the day

And there being a parrot in the window so high
Hearing the lady did say
"I'm afraid some ruffian has led you astray
You′ve tarried so long, so long away"

Oh don't you prittle, don′t you prattle, my pretty Polly bird
And don't you go telling tales on me
And your cage shall be made of the beaten gold
And the bars shall be made of the best ivory

But the king called out from his bedchamber high
Hearing the words the parrot did say
"What's the matter, what′s the matter with my pretty Polly bird?
You′re talking so long, so long before the day"

Oh it's them two black cats at my cage, master
And sorely how they do frighten me
And I′m only a-calling for my pretty Polly
Only to drive them bad cats away