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With the aid of Bell's guitar and Jack's banjo the girls and boys soon caught the pretty air, and sung it in chorus. Pretty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, will you be my own? Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, as cold as a stone; But my love has grown warm-er as cold-er you've grown, O Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, will you be my own? Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, I love you so dear!
Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, my hope and my fear; I've wait-ed for you, sweet-heart, this many a long year; For Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, I've loved you so dear! Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, I'll bid you good bye: Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, for you I'll not die; You'll nev-er get a tru-er true lov-er than I, So Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, good-bye, love, good-bye! At the end, Dr.
There was nobody in the office to receive the traveler's application for quarters, but evidence of somebody in the remote parts of the house, whence came the sound of a voice more penetrating than musical, raised in song. With her apurn pinned round her, He took her for a swan, But oh and a-las, it was poor Pol-ly Bawn.
"See, Pol-ly!" for Polly had slipped out of the room. Adela flew off from the bed. "Polly Polly, Pol-ly!" she called, in a piteous little tone. Polly, halfway down the stairs, looked back. "Oh, you are up," she said, with a smile. "Now that's fine; come." And she held out her hand. "Mercy me, and O my!" cried Adela.
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