As I was a-walking one morning in the Spring,
I heard a pretty damsel most sweetly to sing,
And as she was singing these words she did say,
'There's no life like a ploughboy's all in the month of May!'
 
The lark in the morning doth rise from her nest
She mounts in the air with the dew round her breast.
It's all day long she will whistle and sing,
And at night she will return to her own nest again, again.
 
And when the pretty ploughboy his day's work is done,
He trips down to the meadows where the grass is all cut down,
And there with his sweetheart he'll dance and he'll sing,
And at night he will return with his lass
At night he will return with his lass home again.