“Oh Polly, dearest Polly, the rout it has begun,
And I must go a-marching to the beating of the drum.
Come dress yourself all in your best and come along with me;
I'll take you to the war, my love, in High Germanie.”
“Oh Willy, dearest Willy, come list what I do say,
My feet they are so tender, love, I cannot march away.
Besides, my dearest Willy, I am with child by thee,
Not fitted for the war, my love, in High Germanie.”
“I'll buy Polly a pony, and on it you shall ride
And all my delight shall be a-riding by your side.
We'll stop at every alehouse and drink when we are dry,
We'll be true to one another, and get married by and by.
"And when we get to Plymouth town, I'll make for youa bed,
It shall be covered in roses and the roses shall be red.
And when your babe is born, my love, and smiling on your knee,
Then you'll think about your own true love in High Germanie."
Oh, cursed be the cruel wars that ever they should rise
And out of Merry England press many a man likewise.
They took my true love from me, likewise my brethren three,
And they sent them to the cruel wars in High Germanie.
My friends I do not value nor my foes I do not fear,
Now my love has left me I do wander far and near.
And when my babe is born and sits a-smiling on my knee
Then I'll think about my own true love in High Germanie.
credits
from 52 Folk Songs: Yellow,
released April 22, 2012
Phil Edwards: vocal, drums, concertina, D whistle, processing
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