Subject: Lyr Add: OUTLANDISH KNIGHT (from Norma Waterson)
From:
Abby Sale
Date: 06 Oct 02 - 05:54 PM
Roberto: Sorry for the delay - had to get around to it. I tend to agree with the others that it doesn't much matter but wotthehell - you wanted to know what the damn words were... From Norma on the new Wart/Cart CD, Dark Light, best as I hear it. Outlandish Knight Well, an outlandish knight from the northern lands came
He came wooing of me
He told me he'd take me up to the north lands
There he would marry me Go fetch me some of your father's gold
Some of your mother's fee
And two of the best of your father's horses
There stands thirty and three She's fetched him some of her father's gold
Some of her mother's fee
And two of the best of her father's horses
There stands thirty and three Then she's mounted on her milk-white steed
He's rode the dapple grey
They rode till they came to the broad riverside
Three hours before it was day Light down, light down my pretty fair maid
Light down, light down, cried he
Six pretty maidens I've drowned here
And the seventh one you shall be Pull off, pull off your silken gown
Deliver it over to me
For it is too fine and much too fair
To rot in salt water sea Go get me a sickle to crop off the thistle
That grows beneath the brim
It will not mingle with my curly locks
Or mangle my glittering skin Child "F" 'Go fetch the sickle, to crop the nettle
That grows so near the brim,
For fear it should tangle my golden locks,
Or freckle my milk-white skin.' He's got the sickle to crop off the thistle
That grows beneath the brim
She's caught him round by his middle so small
Tumbled him into the stream Sometimes he sank, sometimes he swam
Down to the bank came he
Oh help me, oh help me, my pretty fair maid
Or drowned I shall be Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man
Lie there instead of me
Six pretty maidens you've drowned here
But the seventh one has drowned thee She's mounted on her milk-white steed
And led the dapple grey
She rode till she came to her father's door
An hour before it was day But the parrot was up in his window so high
On hearing the lady, he did say
I was afraid that some ruffians had done you harm
You've tarried so long before day Don't prittle, don't prattle, my pretty Polly
Don't tell no tales of me
Your cage shall be made of the glistening gold
And your perch of the best ivory But her father was up in the bedroom so high
Hearing the parrot, did say
What is the matter, my pretty Polly
You've cried so long before day? Oh, there came an old cat in my window high
To take my life away
And I was just calling my young mistress
To scare that old pussy away
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