With mind to win or kill.
From Ipswich up to London town
Long days, long nights walked she:
And now had tracked the soldier down
Who caused her shame to be.
She could not breathe, her throat grew dry,
Her soldier looked so brave and strong:
“Why Moll, my girl,” she heard him cry,
“What brings you here along?”
“From Ipswich, Dick, I’ve brought the son,”