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Martin Carthy
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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 list what I do 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 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, get married by and by.'
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Oh, 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 on lovely Willy in High Germany.
(repeat first verse)
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