O Polly love, O Polly love, the route it is begun,
And we must march away at the beating of a 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.
O Billy, dearest Billy, now mind what you do say,
My feet they are so tender I cannot march away,
Besides, my dearest Billy, I am with child by thee,
Not fitting for the war, my love, in High Germany.
O Polly love, O Polly love, I love you very well,
There are few in any place, my Polly can excel.
And when your baby's born, love,
and sits smiling on your knee,
You will think on your Billy that's in High Germany.
Cursed be the cruel wars, that ever they began,
For they have pressed my Billy, and many a clever man,
For they have pressed my Billy and all my brothers three,
And sent them to the cruel wars in High Germany.