Mac.
Were I laid on Greenland's coast,
And in my arms embraced my lass;
Warm amidst eternal frost,
Too soon the half year's night would pass.
Polly.
Were I sold on Indian soil,
Soon as the burning day was closed,
I could mock the sultry toil
When on my charmer's breast reposed.
Mac.
And I would love you all the day,
Polly.
Every night would kiss and play,
Mac.
If with me you'd fondly stray
Polly.
Over the hills and far away.
