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