From: nsm14@cus.cam.ac.uk (Nick Munn)

Peggy-O -- Trad., sung Joan Baez, Simon and Garfunkel, Grateful Dead et al.

[This is closest to the Baez version.]

Transcribed by Nick Munn (nsm14@cus.cam.ac.uk)


 C             Am   Em    F   C
 As we marched down to Fennario
    C  G            C  G  C   G
 As we marched down to Fennario
     Am      G       C           G           F      C
 Our captain fell in love with a lady like a dove
         C            Am     Em         F     C
 And the name she was called was pretty Peggy-O


The main embellishment I use is on the F chords. In the first and last
lines, I hammer on the A note on the G string, i.e. play

E---1------1-----
B---1--------1---
G---0h2--0-----2-
D---3------------
A---3------------
E---1------------

or similar. On "dove" at the end of line 3 I play something like

E------------1---------------1---0--
B----------1---------------1-----1--
G------0h2-----------0-h-2-------0--
D--2-h-3-------2-h-3-------------2--
A--2-h-3-------2-h-3-------------3--
E-----------------------------------



Other verses (again, close to Baez's):

Won't you come and go with me, pretty Peggy-O? (x2)
In coaches you shall ride with your true love by your side
Just as grand as any lady in the are-o

What would your mother think, pretty Peggy-O? (x2)
What would your mother think for to hear the guineas clink
And the soldiers all marching before you?

You're the man that I adore, sweet William-O (x2)
You're the man that I adore, but your fortune is too low
I'm afraid that my mother would be angry-o

Come tripping down the stairs, pretty Peggy-O (x2)
Come tripping down the stairs and tie up your yellow hair
Bid a last farewell to sweet William-O

If ever I return, pretty Peggy-O (x2)
If ever I return then the city I shall burn
And destroy all the ladies in the are-o

Our captain he is dead, pretty Peggy-O (x2)
Our captain he is dead, and he died for a maid
And he's buried in Louisiana county-o.



Nick

"To a philosopher all _news_, as it is called, is gossip, and they who edit
 and read it are old women over their tea." - H.D. Thoreau, "Walden"