BONNY LASS
Bonny lass, bonny lass, wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet serve the swine:
Thou shalt sit on a cushion, and sew a fine seam,
And thou shalt eat strawberries, sugar, and cream!
OH, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
Oh, where are you going,
My pretty maiden fair,
With your red rosy cheeks,
And your coal-black hair?
I’m going a-milking,
Kind sir, says she,
And it’s dabbling in the dew
Where you’ll find me.