Come ye men, come ye maidens, to the harvest feast today, Bring your sickles and your wagons, bring your hearts so light and gay; For the corn is ripe and golden, and the reapers' work is done, And we'll crown the year with gladness when the harvest home is won.
There were three men came from the west Their fortunes for to try And these three men made a solemn vow John Barleycorn should die
I will tell you of a story that has lately come to pass, Of a cruel young farmer and his mare and her foal so fast. The mare was standing in the field, the foal was by her side, When the cruel farmer came along and made the foal to hide.
It's of a lawyer as you shall hear A-riding through the city There he beheld a damsel fair Most beautiful and pretty.
I’m Roger Rough, a ploughman, A ploughman’s son am I, And like my thirsty father, My throttle’s always dry;
I am a blacksmith by my trade, From London I came down; I am an obstinate swaggering blade, Not like some country clown.
The sun went down beyond you hill, across you dreary moor Weary and lane a boy there came up to the farmer's door 'Can you tell me if any there be that will give me employ For to plough and sow, for to reap and mow, and be a farmer's boy And be a farmer's boy?'
A farmer’s daughter fair and gay, A young man came a-courting, He was a bold and a rakish blade, And soon gained her affection.
When first I went a-waggoning, a-waggoning I did go,I filled me parents’ hearts with sorrow, grief, and woe.And many are the hardships that
Where the Songs were collected