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