| Come ye young men, come along
|
| With your music and your song
|
| Bring your lasses in your hands
|
| For 'tis that which love commands
|
| Then to the maypole haste away
|
| For 'tis now our holiday
|
| 'Tis the choice time of the year
|
| For the violets now appear
|
| Now the rose receives its birth
|
| And the pretty primrose decks the earth
|
| And when you well reckoned have
|
| What kisses you your sweethearts gave
|
| Take them all again and more
|
| It will never make them poor
|
| Then to the maypole haste away
|
| For 'tis now our holiday
|
| When you thus have spent your time
|
| Till the day be past its prime
|
| To your beds repair at night
|
| And dream there of your day’s delight
|
| Then to the maypole haste away
|
| For 'tis now our holiday
|
| Come ye young men, come along
|
| With your music and your song
|
| Bring your lasses in your hands
|
| For 'tis that which love commands |