Poll of Itchen Ferry
Have you ever been to Peartree Green,
All on a summer's morning?
Where the village girls are seen adorned,
Unconscious of adorning
There have you noticed one sweet maid,
Tripping to church light and airy,
In modest virgin white arrayed,
Lovely Poll of Itchen Ferry.
Many a sweetheart old and young,
From town and village came a-wooing
In rustic strains her charms they sang
And they told her it was cupid's doing.
Robin the gardener, spruce and gay,
Called her his peach, his cherry,
And for to church would have tripped away
With Poll of Itchen Ferry.
Gerry of Weston next hove-to,
Fishing in Southampton Water,
As soon as Poll appeared in view,
He cast his net and thought he'd caught her.
"Oh Polly" he cried "my trout, my smelt,
Come and kiss your loving Gerry".
But all of his tackling couldn't melt the heart
Of Poll of Itchen Ferry.
Farmers and farmer's sons they came
From Northam as far as Hamble,
And all to Poll confessed a flame,
But they might well have spared their ramble.
As Poll she wished them all good day
And lightly stepped into a wherry,
And waving a hand she sailed away
With Joe of Itchen Ferry.