Polly Vaughn

Come​ ​all​ ​you​ ​young​ ​fellows
That​ ​carry​ ​a​ ​gun
I’ll​ ​have​ ​you​ ​come​ ​home
By​ ​the​ ​light​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sun

For​ ​Jimmy​ ​was​ ​hunting
And​ ​hunting​ ​alone
When​ ​he​ ​shot​ ​his​ ​true​ ​love
In​ ​the​ ​room​ ​of​ ​a​ ​swan

Polly​ ​went​ ​out​ ​in​ ​a​ ​shower​ ​of​ ​hail
She​ ​crept​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bushes
Herself​ ​to​ ​conceal
With​ ​her​ ​apron​ ​pulled​ ​o'er​ ​her
He​ ​took​ ​her​ ​for​ ​a​ ​swan
He​ ​aimed,​ ​he​ ​fired
And​ ​killed​ ​his​ ​Polly​ ​Vaughn

Then​ ​home​ ​rushed​ ​young​ ​Jimmy
His​ ​dog,​ ​and​ ​his​ ​gun
Crying,​ ​"Uncle,​ ​dear​ ​Uncle
Oh,​ ​what​ ​have​ ​I​ ​done?
Oh,​ ​cursed​ ​be​ ​the​ ​gunsmith
That​ ​made​ ​my​ ​old​ ​gun
For​ ​I​ ​shot​ ​my​ ​true​ ​love
In​ ​the​ ​room​ ​of​ ​a​ ​swan!"

Then​ ​out​ ​rushed​ ​bold​ ​uncle
His​ ​locks​ ​hanging​ ​grey
Crying,​ ​"Jimmy​ ​dear​ ​Jimmy
Don't​ ​you​ ​run​ ​away
Don't​ ​leave​ ​the​ ​county
Till​ ​your​ ​trials​ ​come​ ​on
For​ ​they​ ​never​ ​would​ ​hang​ ​you
For​ ​shooting​ ​a​ ​swan."

The​ ​funeral​ ​of​ ​Polly,​ ​it​ ​was​ ​a​ ​brave​ ​sight
Four​ ​and​ ​twenty​ ​young​ ​men
All​ ​dressed​ ​in​ ​white
They​ ​brought​ ​her​ ​to​ ​the​ ​graveyard
Laid​ ​her​ ​in​ ​the​ ​grave
All​ ​said,​ ​"Goodbye​ ​Polly!"
And​ ​went​ ​weeping​ ​away

In​ ​six​ ​weeks​ ​time
The​ ​trial​ ​was​ ​on
And​ ​Polly​ ​appeared
In​ ​the​ ​room​ ​of​ ​a​ ​swan
Crying,​ ​"Judge,​ ​oh​ ​Jury
Let​ ​Jimmy​ ​go​ ​clear
For​ ​he​ ​never​ ​should​ ​hang
For​ ​shooting​ ​his​ ​dear!
My​ ​apron​ ​was​ ​bound​ ​around​ ​me
And​ ​he​ ​took​ ​me​ ​for​ ​a​ ​swan
And​ ​my​ ​poor​ ​heart​ ​lay​ ​a'bleeding
All​ ​on​ ​the​ ​wet,​ ​green​ ​ground