| It was on a fine summer's morning | |
| The birds sweetly tune on each bough | |
| And as I walked out for my pleasure | |
| I saw a maid milking a cow | |
| Her voice was so enchanting, melodious | |
| Left me quite unable to go | |
| My heart, it was loaded with sorrow | |
| For the pretty girl milking her cow | |
| Then to her I made my advances | |
| "Good morrow, most beautiful maid | |
| Your beauty my heart so entrances" | |
| "Pray, sir, do not banter," she said | |
| "I'm not such a rare precious jewel | |
| That I should enamor you so | |
| I am but a poor little milk girl" | |
| Says the pretty girl milking her cow | |
| "The Indies afford no such jewel | |
| So bright, so transparently clear | |
| Ah do not add flames to my funeral | |
| Consent but to know me, my dear" | |
| Oh had I the lamp of Aladdin | |
| Or the wealth that gold mines can bestow | |
| I would rather be poor in a cottage | |
| With the pretty girl milking her cow |
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