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Come all you young fellows
That carry a gun
I’ll have you come home
By the light of the sun

For Jimmy was hunting
And hunting alone
When he shot his true love
In the room of a swan

Polly went out in a shower of hail
She crept to the bushes
Herself to conceal
With her apron pulled o'er her
He took her for a swan
He aimed, he fired,
And killed his Polly Vaughn

Then home rushed young Jimmy,
His dog, and his gun
Crying, "Uncle, dear Uncle,
Oh, what have I done?
Oh, cursed be the gunsmith
That made my old gun
For I shot my true love,
In the room of a swan!"

Then out rushed bold uncle
His locks hanging grey
Crying, "Jimmy dear Jimmy,
Don't you run away,
Don't leave the county
Till your trials come on,
For they never would hang you,
For shooting a swan."

The funeral of Polly, it was a brave sight
Four and twenty young men
All dressed in white
They brought her to the graveyard
Laid her in the grave
All said, "Goodbye Polly!"
And went weeping away.

In six weeks time
The trial was on
And Polly appeared
In the room of a swan
Crying, "Judge, oh Jury,
Let Jimmy go clear
For he never should hang
For shooting his dear!
My apron was bound around me
And he took me for a swan,
And my poor heart lay a'bleeding
All on the wet, green ground

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