I cannot come every day to woo.
I've corn and hay in the barn hard-by,
And three fat hogs pent up in the sty,
I have a mare and she is coal black,
I ride on her tail to save my back.
Then, say, my Joan, will not that do?
I cannot come every day to woo.
I have a cheese upon the shelf,
And I cannot eat it all myself;
I've three good marks that lie in a rag,