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The Shooting of His Dear (or Polly Vaughan)

A. L. Lloyd
Language: English



Come all you young fellows that carry a gun,
I'll have you come home by the light of the sun.
For young Jimmy was a fowler, and a-fowling alone,
When he shot his own true love in the room of a swan.

As Polly went out in a shower of hail,
She crept unto the bushes herself to conceal
With her apron thrown over her, and he took her for a swan,
With a shot in the dark he killed Polly his own.

Then home rushed young Jimmy with his dog and his gun,
Crying, “Uncle, dear uncle, have you heard what I've done?
O cursed be that old gunsmith that made my old gun,
For I've shot my own true love in the room of a swan!”

Then out rushed bold uncle with his locks hanging grey,
Crying, “Jimmy, dear Jimmy, don't you run away.
O don't you leave your own country till your trial do come on,
For they never would hang you for shooting a swan.”

Now the girls of this country, they're all glad we know,
To see Polly Vaughan a-lying so low.
You could gather them into a mountain, you could plant them in a row,
And her beauty'd shine among them like a fountain of snow.

Well, in six weeks time the assizes were on
And Polly did appear in the form of a swan,
Crying, “Uncle, dearest uncle, let Jimmy go clear,
For he never should be hung for shooting his dear.”


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