No ploughman's blade will cut thee down
No cutlass pull will mark thy face
And you will be my ain true love
And you will be my ain true loveAnd as you walk through death's dark vale
The cannon's thunder can't prevail
And those who hunt thee down will fail
And you will be my ain true love
And you will be my ain true love
Asleep inside the cannon's mouth,
The captain cries, "Here comes the rout,"They'll seek to find me north and south
I've gone to find my ain true love.
The field is cut and bleeds too red,
The cannon balls fly round my head,The infirmary man may count me dead,
When I've gone to find my ain true love
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