High Germany

Oh Polly love, oh Polly
The rout has now begun
And we must go a-marching
To the beating of the drum
Go dress yourself all in your best and
Come along with me
I’ll take you to the war, my love, in high Germany

Oh Willy love, oh Willy
Come listen what I say:
My feet they are so tender
I cannot march away
And besides my dearest Willy
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 of my delight will be
To ride there by your side
We’ll stop at every ale-house
And drink when we are dry
Be true to one another and get married, by and by

Oh cursed be the cruel wars
That ever they may rise
And out of merry England
Press many men like mine
They took my true love from me
Likewise my brothers three
Sent them to the way, my love, in high Germany

My friends I do not value
Nor foes I do not fear
Since my love has left me
I wander far and near
And when my baby it is born
And smiling on my knee
I’ll think of lovely Willy, in high Germany

Trad, arr T Ashworth