Lyrics:
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O Polly, dear Polly, the rout has now begun,
And I must away by the beating of the drum;
So you dress yourself in all your best, and come along with me,
And I'll take you to the cruel wars of High Germany.
O Harry, dear Harry, you mind what I do say,
My feet are so tender I cannot march away;
And besides, dear Harry, I am in love with thee,
I'm not fitted for the cruel wars of High Germany.
O I'll buy you a horse, my love, and on it you shall ride,
And all my delight shall be a-riding by your side;
So we'll call at every ale-house and drink when we are dry,
As quickly on the road, my boys, we'll marry by and by.
The drums beat in the morning before the break of day
Sound the shrill fifes loud and clear while yet the morn was gray;
Lo, the battle flag unfurled, a gallant sight to see,
And woe to me, my love was sent to High Germany.
O cursed was the cruel wars that ever they should rise,
And out of Merry England pressed many a lad likewise;
They pressed young Harry from me, likewise my brothers three,
And sent them to the cruel wars of High Germany.
My friends I do not value and my foes I do not fear
Now my love has left me, I wander far and near
But when my baby it is born and smiling on my knee
I’ll think of lovely Willie in High Germany.
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