| lyric | The lark in the morning she rises froom her nest.
And she goes off in the air with the dew all on her breast.
And like the jolly ploughboy she whistles and she sings.
And she goes home in the evening with the dew all on her wings.
Oh, Roger the ploughboy he is a dashing blade,
He goes whistling and singing for yonder leafy shade
He met with dark-eyed Susan, she’s handsome I declare,
And she is far more enticing than the birds all in the air.
As they were coming home from the rakes of the town,
The meadow bein’ all mown and the grass had been cut down.
As they should chance to tumble all on the new-mown hay
Oh, it’s kiss me now or never, this bonnie lass would say.
When twenty long weeks were over and past
Her mammy asked the reason why she thickened round the waist
‘It was the pretty ploughboy’ this girl then did say,
For he asked me for to tumble all on the new-mown hay.
Here’s a health to you ploughboys where ever you may be,
That like to have a bonnie lass a sittin’ on each knee.
With a pint of good strong porter he’ll whistle and he’ll sing
And the ploughboy is as happy as a prince or a king. |