4.Lark in the Morning
The lark in the morning, she rises off her nest, goes home in
the evening with the dew all on her breast. And like the jolly
ploughboy, she whistles and she sings, goes home in the evening
with the dew all on her wings.
Roger the ploughboy, he is a dashing blade, goes whistling and
singing over yonder leafy shade. He met with pretty Susan,
beautiful and fair, far more enchanting than the birds all in
the air. One evening coming home from the rakes of he town, the
meadow'd been all green and the grass had been cut down. As I
should chance to tumble all in the new-mown hay, 'it's kiss me
now or never love,' this maiden she did say.
When twenty long weeks they were over and were past, her mommy
chanced to notice how she thickened round the waist. 'It was the
handsome ploughboy,' this maiden she did say, 'he caused for me
to tumble, all in the new-mown hay.'
So here's to all you ploughboys, wherever you may be, that likes
to have a bonnie-lass a-sitting on his knee. With a jug of good
strong porter, you'll whistle and you'll sing, for a ploughboy
is as happy as a prince or a king.
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