As I walked under London Bridge
One misty morning early,
I overheard a fair, pretty maid,
Was lamenting for her Geordie.
O my Geordie will be hanged
in a golden chain,
‘Tis not the chain of many.
He was born of King’s royal breed
And lost to a virtous lady
Go bridle me my milk white steed
Go bridle me my pony
I will ride to London’s court
And to plead for the life of Geordie.
O my Geordie never stole nor cow nor calf
He never hurted any
Stole sixteen of the King’s royal deer
And he sold them in Bohenny.
Two pretty babies have I borne,
The third lies in my body,
I’d freely part with them every one,
If you’d spare the life of Geordie.
The judge looked over his left shoulder,
He said, “Fair maid, I’m sorry,
For I can not pardon Geordie
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