Where is my Owen, where is my true Love ?
  O saw ye the shepherd that's dearest to me?
Where art thou wandering? come haste to my view, love!
  O art thou not eager thy Mary to see?
Long, long does he tarry, ah! surely some new love
  Detains o'er the mountains my Owen from me,
But swains do not grieve me, still kindly deceive me,
  And answer thy Owen is constant to thee.

Fain would I think so -- sad when we parted 
  Appear'd the dear shepherd with tears in his eyes; 
Pale was his cheek, too, but many have smarted 
  From treachery hidden in true love's disguise.
For men 'tis most certain were ever false-hearted, 
  And those who adore them, alas, they despise! 
But, oh! do not grieve me, still kindly deceive me, 
  And tell me that Owen for Mary still sighs. 

Heavens, who comes yonder? ah 'tis my Owen,
  And smiling he hastens his Mary to greet!
His tender impatience each eager step shewing,
  To which my fond heart gives an answering beat,
Now, foolish tears, wherefore, why thus are ye flowing,
  My Owen will fancy I grieve when we meet,
No, he'll never leave me, nor ever deceive me,
  O! heaven, those kind glances! my joy is complete.