American Ballads and Songs

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0 young people, hark while I relate The story of poor Polly's fate! She was a lady young and fair And died a-groaning in despair.
She would go to balls and dance and play In spite of all her friends could say; "I'll turn" said she, "when I am old, And God will then receive my soul."
One Sabbath morning she fell sick; Her stubborn heart began to ache. She cries, "Alas my days are spent! It is too late now to repent."
She called her mother to her bed, Her eyes were rolling in her head; A ghastly look she did assume; She cries, "Alas, I am undone!"
"My loving father, you I leave;
For wicked Polly do not grieve;
For I must burn f orevermore,
When thousand thousand years are o'er.
"Your councils I have slighted all, My carnal appetite to fill. When I am dead, remember well Your wicked Polly groans in hell!"