An outlandish knight came from the northlands
And he's courted a lady fair
He said he would take me to those northern lands
And there he would marry her.

'O fetch me some of your father's gold,
And some of your mother's fee,
And two of the best horses from out of the stable
Where there stand thirty and three.'

She fetched him some of her father's gold,
And some of her mother's fee,
And two of the best horses from out of the stable
Where there stood thirty and three.

She mounted on her milkwhite steed
And he on the dapple grey,
They rode till they came to the northern shore
Three hours before it was day.

'Light off, light off your milk white steed
Tether it to yonder tree
For six pretty maidens have I drowned here
And the seventh will surely be thee.

'And take off, take off your silken robes,
And deliver them unto me,
For I do think that they are too fine
To rot all in the salt sea.

'And take off, take off your fine Holland smock,
And deliver it unto me,
For I do think that it is too fine
To rot all in the salt sea.'

'If I must take off my fine Holland smock
Then turn your back on me,
For it is not fitting for such a rogue
A naked woman to see.'

He's turned his back all on that maid
And looked at the leaves so green
She's taken him by the middle so small,
And tumbled him into the stream.

Sometimes he sank, sometimes he swam,
Until he came to the side.
'Catch hold of my hand, my fair pretty maid
And then I will make you my bride.'

'Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man,
Lie there instead of me,
For six pretty maidens hast thou drowned here
And the seventh has drowned thee.'

She mounted on her lilywhite horse,
She's led the dapple grey,
She rode till she came to her father's hall
Three hours before it was day.

Now the parrot being in the window so high,
Hearing the lady, he did say:
'I feared that some ruffian had led you astray,
You tarried so long away.'

The king being in the bedroom so high,
Hearing the parrot did say,
'What ails thee, what ails thee, my pretty Polly,
You're prattling so long before day?'

'Don't prittle, don't prattle, my pretty Polly,
Tell no tales of me,
And your cage shall be all of the glittering gold,
Though now it is made of a tree.'

'It's no laughing matter,' the parrot did say,
'So loudly I call upon thee,
For the cats have got into my bedroom so high
And I fear they're the death of me.'

'Well turned, well turned, my pretty Polly,
Well turned, well turned for me.
Your cage shall be all of the glittering gold
And the spokes of the best ivory.'