Mike Curtin sent me this classic, which Bev Praver also sings.
CHILD BALLAD BRIEF (Jo Nell Bevington, nee Dart)
Peggy, Polly, Mary, Molly, Little Liza Jane. Doesn't matter what she's called, it all turns out the same. Strangled, stabbed or dismembered by Willy Johnny lad. If it's a Child Ballad, it's bound to turn out sad.
First we have the setting, the grand idyllic scene. Where two lovers stroll about, in May it always seems. Wicked Willy Johnny gets Molly off alone. By river or by mountainside it's always far from home.
Now after endless verses, where nothing much is said, Willy Johnny takes a knife and stabs poor Polly dead. Even though she sees the knife, she doesn't understand. Keeps saying, "Please don't do this!" to a homicidal man.
Or sometimes in a twist of fate, Willy Johnny leaves, stranding Liza with a case of gross fecundity. Then she pines away, hangs herself or drowns instead. Either way, it's still the same, she always ends up dead.
Now in the Child Ballad you have reached verse twenty two. But don't put down the popcorn, there's thirty left to do. You look at me astonished, and say, "Don't be absurd!" I tell you Child Ballads were paid for by the word.
You wonder what could happen now that Mary Molly's dead? They often plant some trees and bushes just above her head. They grow so high, so quickly, like some green tidal wave. Then Mary Molly Peggy Polly rises from the grave.
Just as Willy Johnny has settled down to rest, Mary Molly's ghost appears in bloody half-undress. She stands there by his bedside, and swears her love was true. Says, "How ya doin', Sweety? Tell me what you're gonna do."
At this point Willy Johnny often has a fit. Plunges deep into remorse and slashes both his wrists. He's buried by his Liza Jane for all eternity. The bushes tie a true-love knot, end of story.
But don't think that it's over, 'cause it's time to moralize. True love conquers everything, though everybody dies. The singer's gettin' thirsty, 'cause he's reached verse eighty four. And everyone who listened is asleep and starts to snore.
So if you have the urge to become a balladeer, think about your audience and have another beer. Play something short and simple, like Mallet's Garden Song. It's got a better tune and it's not so goddamned long.