The Rich Irish Lady/Jeff Sturgeon

There was a rich lady from London she came
She was called Pretty Sally, Pretty Sally by name
Her wealth it was more than a king could possess
Her beauty was more than her wealth at its best

There was a young doctor was living hard by
Who on this fair maiden in love cast his eye
He courted her nightly a year and a day
But still she refused him and ever say nay

“O Sally, dear Sally, Pretty Sally,“ says he
“Can you tell me the reason our love can't agree?
Your cruel unkindness my ruin will prove
Unless all your hatred will turn into love.”

“I've no hatred to you nor to other man
But truly to marry you I never can
Give over your courting, I pray you be still
For you I'll ne'er marry of my own free will.”

'Twas soon after this, scarce a year had gone by
Pretty Sally got sick and she feared she would die
She tangled was in love and she knew not for why
She sent for the doctor she once had denied

“So am I the doctor whose skill you would try?
Or am I the young man you once did deny?”
“Yes you are the doctor, can kill or can cure
Unless you can help me I'm dying I'm sure.”
“But Sally, Pretty Sally, O Sally,” said he
“Don't you remember you once slighted me?”

“For what's past and done, sir, I hope you'll forgive
And grant me some longer in the wide world to live.”
“That I'll ne'er do, Sally, while I do draw breath
But I'll dance on your grave when you're laid in the earth.”

“Ten thousand times over my folly I see
I freely forgive you although you won't me.”
Then off from her fingers gold rings she drew three
Saying, “Take them and wear them when you're dancing on me.”