Oh Polly love, oh Polly, the rout has now begun We must go a-marching to the beating of the drum Dress yourself all in your best and come along with me I'll take you to the war, my love, in High Germany
Oh Willie love, oh Willie, come list what I do say My feet they are so tender I cannot march away And besides my dearest Willie I am with child by thee Not fitted for the war, my love, in High Germany
I'll buy for you a horse, my love, and on it you shall ride And all my delight shall be in riding by your side We'll stop at every ale-house and drink when we are dry We'll be true to one another, get married by and by
Cursed be them cruel wars that ever they should rise And out of merry England press many a man likewise They pressed my true love from me likewise my brothers three And sent them to the war, my love, in High Germany
My friends I do not value nor my foes I do not fear Now my love has left me I wander far and near And when my baby it is born and a-smiling on my knee I'll think of lovely Willie in High Germany
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