It's of a Farmer's daughter, so beautiful I'm told,
Her parents died and left her five hundred pounds in gold,
She lived with her uncle, the cause of all her woe,
And you shall hear this maiden fair did prove his overthrow.
Her uncle had a ploughboy, young Mary loved full well,
And in her uncle's garden their tales of love would tell;
There was a wealthy squire who oft came her to see,
But still she loved her ploughboy, on the bank of sweet Dundee.
It was on one summer's morning, her uncle went straightway,
He knocked at her chamber door, and unto her did say,