The lark is a bonny bird and she flies off her nest.
She mounts the morn air with the dew on her breast
She flies o'er the ploughboy, she whistles and she sings
And at evening she returns with the dew on her wings
Early one morning the ploughboy arose
Whistling and singing to the field as he goes
He met a pretty fair maid, he met her in the lane
One question he asked her and he thought it no shame...
One question he asked her: Could he take her to the fair,
And buy her some ribbons for to tie up her hair?
But this maiden, she answered, to the field she would not go,
Saying: "I don't want your ribbons, I can buy myself a bow."
But walking and talking down by yon shady grove
With no one for to listen but the young turtledove
She put her harms around him and he took her to the fair,
And she bought herself some ribbons to tie back her hair
And as they were returning from the fair unto the town
Where the meadows were mowed and the grass it was cut down
And the nightingale whistled upon the hawthorne spray
And the moon it was a shining upon the new-mown hay...
Good luck unto these lovers wherever they be
I hope they live together in sweet harmony
And when that they awaken, sure they'll whistle and they'll sing,
And I pray they'll be as happy as the lark on the wing.