‘Pull off, pull of thy silken stays,
And deliver them unto me;
Methinks they are too fine and gay
To rot in the salt sea.
‘Pull off, pull off thy Holland smock,
And deliver it unto me;
Methinks it looks too rich and gay,
To rot in the salt sea.’
‘If I must pull off my Holland smock,
Pray turn thy back unto me,
For it is not fitting that such a ruffian
A naked woman should see.’
He turned his back towards her,
And viewed the leaves so green;
She catched him round the middle so small,
And tumbled him into the stream.
He droppèd high, and he droppèd low,
Until he came to the side,—
‘Catch hold of my hand, my pretty maiden,
And I will make you my bride.’
‘Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man,
Lie there instead of me;
Six pretty maids have you drownèd here,
And the seventh has drownèd thee.’
She mounted on her milk-white steed,
And led the dapple grey,
She rode till she came to her own father’s hall,
Three hours before it was day.
The parrot being in the window so high,
Hearing the lady, did say,
‘I’m afraid that some ruffian has led you astray,
That you have tarried so long away.’
‘Don’t prittle nor prattle, my pretty parrot,
Nor tell no tales of me;
Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,
Although it is made of a tree.’
The king being in the chamber so high,
And hearing the parrot, did say,
‘What ails you, what ails you, my pretty parrot,
That you prattle so long before day?’