8
Sweet Polly of Plymouth.
Sweet Polly of Plymouth was my dear,
When forc'd from her to go—
A down her cheeks rain'd many a tear,
My heart was fraught with woe.
Our anchor weigh'd, for sea we stood,
The land we left behind:
Her tears then swell’d the briny flood,
My sighs increas'd the wind.
We plough'd the deep, and now between
Us lay the ocean wide;
For five long years I had not seen
My sweet, my bonny bride.
That time I sail'd the world around,
All for my true-love's sake;
But press'd as we were homeward bound,
I thought my heart would break.
The press-gang bold I ask'd in vain
To let me once on shore;
I long'd to see my Poll again,
But saw my Poll no more.
“ And have they torn my love away?
And is he gone?”—she cried:
My Polly—sweetest flower of May!
She languish'd, droop'd, and dy'd.
F I N I S.
