Yes, May and I are friends,
    Lovers, many have said;
For down the lane and o'er the lea
    To church we often tread,
In that careless sort of way,
    That leads to love, they say;
And after church we often search
    For garlands by the way.

Yes, May and I are friends,
    And something more, they say;
Because along the curved strand,
    Where we sat the other day,
I simply wrote her name,
    And wrote it o'er again;
When after church we stopped to search
    For shells along the main.

More than friends are we,
    My bonny May and I;
At least that's what our neighbors say
    Whene'er they pass us by,
They smile and wink their eye,
    And set their necks awry:
When after church we stop to search
    For heart's ease, May and I.