O the lark in the morning she rises off her nest
She goes whistling and singing with the dew all on her breast
Like a jolly ploughboy she whistles and she sings
She comes home in the evening with the dew all on her wings
Roger the ploughboy he's a bonnie blade
He goes whistling and singing down by yon green glade
He's met with dark-eyed Susan, she's handsome I declare
She is far more enticing than the birds of the air.
As he was coming home one evening from town
With the meadows being green, the grass just cut down
As he should chance to stumble all in the new mown hay
"It's love me now or never," this bonnie lass did say
So good luck to the ploughboys wherever they may be
That takes the sweet maidens to sit her on their knee
With a jug of strong porter you'll whistle and you'll say,?
There's no life like a ploughboy's in the merry month of May