High Germany by Pentangle
Oh Polly love, oh Polly, the rout has now begun
And we must march away at the beating of the drum
Go dress yourself in all your best and come along with me
I'll take you to the cruel wars in High Germany
I fear the treacherous journey bitter cold and burning heat
Rough roads and stony mountains they will wound my tender feet
To your kinsmen I might prove untrue if from them I do go
For maids must bide at their parents' side while the men do face the foe.
I'll buy for you a horse, my love, and on it you will ride
Then all of my contentment shall be riding at my side
We'll stop at every ale-house and drink when we are dry
So quickly on the road, my love, and marry by and by
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