High Germany from Hollow by Thom Ashworth

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 in all 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 be 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 war, 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

• Folk
• London