Hush, my little pretty one! Thy mother milks the kine,
Thy father's gone to seek the sheep, hush then, sister mine.
There's someone waiting in the lane with fairings gay for me.
Slumber! or the little folk will run away with thee!

Slumber, little naughty one! Thy father's found his sheep,
And mother will not let me go until thou art asleep.
Suppose he meets with someone else and will not wait for me?
How I wish the little folk would run away with thee!