Mowing the Barley

It's of a lawyer as you shall hear A-riding through the city There he beheld a damsel fair Most beautiful and pretty.

'Where are you going, my fair pretty maid Where are you going, my honey?' 'To yonder meadow', she replied 'My father's there a-mowing.'

'Shall I go with you, my fair pretty maid Shall I go with you, my honey?' She answered me right cheerfully 'My father will be angry'

Then quickly I tripped over the plain And soon I overtook her I whispered these kind words to her ears ‘A lady I will make you.’

‘And up to London you shall dwell I’ll dress you like some lady Fine silken gowns you shall have on Fine ribbons, strings and laces.’

‘Besides I’ll give you money too I’ll give you gold and silver If you’ll consent to go with me Unto the town of Dover.’

‘Then it’s keep your gold and silver too And carry it where you’re going There’s many a false young man like you Has brought poor girls to ruin.’

‘I’d rather be a ploughman’s wife Sit at my wheel a-spinning Than I’d be a lawyer’s bride Sit in some alehouse drinking.’

Come all young maids a warning take In country, town or city You never should listen to what a young man says For a young man’s got no pity.