1.
The lark in the morn
As she rises from her nest
Mounts thro’ the white air,
With the dew on her breast,
’Long with the pretty ploughboy,
She’ll whistle and she’ll sing,
‖: And return to her nest
In the cool evening. :‖
2.
One morning she mounted
So cheerily on high,
She look’d round about her
And at the dark sky,
And loudly she was singing
And twittering her lay,
‖: ‘There’s no life like the ploughboy’s
In the sweet month of May.’ :‖
3.
When day’s work is ended
And over, he’ll go
To fair or to market
To buy him a bow,
And whistle as he walks,
O! and shrilly too will sing,
‖: ‘There’s no life like the ploughboy’s
All in merry spring. :‖
4.
Good luck to the ploughboy
Wherever he may be,
A fair pretty maiden
He’ll take on his knee,
He’ll drink the nut-brown ale,
And this song the lad will sing,
‖: ‘Oh! the ploughboy is happier
Than noble or king.’ :‖