by Anonymous / Unidentified Author

I'll Tell You What I Saw Last Night
Language: English 
Young people, who delight in sin,
I'll tell you what has lately been,
A woman who was young and fair
Has lately died in dark despair.

She would to frolic, dance, and play
In spite of all her friends could say.
"I'll turn to God when I get old,
And then he will receive my soul."

On Friday morning she took sick,
Her stubborn heart began to break.
"Alas, alas, my days are spent!
Good lord, too late for to repent!"

She called her mother to her bed;
Her eyes were rolling in her head.
"When I am dead remember well
Your wicked Polly screams in hell!

"The tears are lost you shed for me.
My soul is lost I plainly see.
The flowing wrath begins to roll,
I am a lost, a ruined soul!"

She gnawed her tongue before she died,
She rolled, she groaned, she cried,
Saying, "Must I burn forevermore
When thousand, thousand years are o'er?"

At length master death prevailed.
Her face turned blue, her language failed.
She closed her eyes and left this world.
Poor Polly thought that hell was hers.

This almost broke her mother's heart
To see her child to hell depart.
"My Polly, O my Polly's dead!
Her soul is gone, her spirit's fled!"

Text as set by Conte: 

Young people who delight in sin, I'll tell you what has lately been:
A woman who was young and fair died in sin and deep despair.

She went to frolics, dances and play in spite of all her friends could say.
"I'll turn to God when I get old, and He will then receive my soul."

One Friday morning she took sick, her stubborn heart began to break.
She called her mother to her bed, her eyes were rolling in her head:

"O mother, mother, fare you well, your wicked Polly's doomed to hell,
The tears are lost you shed for me; my soul is lost, I plainly see.

"My earthly father, fare you well, your wicked Polly's doomed to hell.
The flaming wrath begins to roll; I'm a lost and ruined soul.

"your counsels I have slipted all, my carnal appetite to fill.
When I am dead, remember well, your wicked Polly groans in hell."

She wrung her hands and groaned and cried and gnawed her tongue before she died;
Her nails turned black, her voice did fail, she died, and left this lower vale.

Young people, let this be your case, oh, turn to God and trust His grace.
Down on your knees for mercy cry, lest you in sin like Polly die.

Confirmed with Louise Pound, American Ballads and Folksongs, New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1922, pages 111-114.

Confirmed with Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume IV, Religious Songs and Other Items, Columbia, State Historical Society of Missouri, 1946, pages 16-20.


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Researcher for this page: George Miller [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website: 2026-07-20
Line count: 32
Word count: 212