As I went down to London Town,
One misty morning, early,
I chanced to meet a fair, young maid
A-pleading for her Geordie.

The judge then looked down on him,
And said, "I'm sorry for thee.
Thine own confession hath hanged thee.
May the Lord have mercy on thee."	

Come bridle me my milk-white steed,
Come bridle me my pony,
That I may ride to fair London Town,
To plead for my Geordie.

Oh, Geordie stole no cow nor calf,
And he never murdered any,
But he stole sixteen of the King's white steeds,
And sold them in Bohenny.

And when she entered in the hall,
There were lords and ladies plenty.
Down on her knees she then did fall,
To plead for the life of Geordie. 

Let Geordie hang in golden chains,
His crimes were never many,
Because he came from royal blood,
And courted a virtuous lady.

Then Geordie looked around the court,
And saw his precious Polly.
He said, "My dear, you've come too late,
For I'm condemned already!"

I wish I was in yonder grove,
Where times I have been many,
With my broadsword and pistol, too,
I'd fight for the life of Geordie.

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