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THE MAID AND HER BARLEY.
Cold and raw the north wind blaw,
bleak in the morning early;
All the trees were covered with snaw,
covered With winter yearly.
As I was riding along the ploughs,
I met a farmer's daughter,
With rosy cheeks and bonny brow,
good faith my chops did water.
Down I wav'd my boanet full low,
meaning to shew my breeding.
But she return'd a graceful bow,
with her visage fair exceeding.
I ask’d her where she was going so soon,
I long’d to hold a parley.
She told me to the next market town,
on purpose fo sell her barley.
In this purse, sweet soul said I,
twenty pounds lies fairly,
Seen no further one to buy,
for I'll buy all thy barley.
