Peasants Farewell to the Mercs

From this valley they say you are leaving.
We will miss your bright swords and strong arms,
For they say you are taking as plunder
All the food we have stored in our barns.

Oh, leave us some things for the winter.
Take not all, we implore with a sob.
For when you return in the springtime,
You will not find a peasant to rob.

You have gotten our dear daughters pregnant,
You have slaughtered our cows for your stew.
O we hired you for our protection,
But we needed protection from you.