One morning young Polly, while tossing in bed,
Had very queer notions come into her head-
Neither father nor mother could make her false prove,
So she dressed as a soldier to follow her love.
She went to the stable and viewed the steeds 'round,
And at length fixed on one that could travel the ground;
With a bright sword and pistol, both swung at her side,
Like a valiant young soldier forth she did rule.
She rode till she came to a town of renown,
And there she put up at the sign of the crown;
The first-one to enter was a brave English lord,
And he was soon followed by Polly's adored.
She gave hint a letter, which he took with great care.
Saying: Here is a missive from Polly, your dear,
And under your window a guinea will be found,
For you and your men to drink Polly's health around.
He seemed broken-hearted, with sorrow cast down,
Exclaiming: oh, Polly, dear Polly, my own!
If this fairest maiden I never shall have,
I will take my last sleep in some watery grave.
And then bring drowsy he hung down his head,
And called for a candle to light him to bed;
My coach is quite large, two can sleep there with ease,
And you can be with me, kind sir, if you please.
I care not for sleep, 'tis a dangerous thing,
For one who is hue to right for his king;
Put I'm not what I seem-am soldier no more,
I am your dear Polly, the girl you adore!