| Come ye young men, come along
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| With your music, dance and song
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| Bring your lasses in your hands
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| For 'tis love which thus commands
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| Then to the Maypole haste away
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| For 'tis now our holiday
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| 'Tis the choice time of the year
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| For the violets now appear
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| Now the rose receives its birth
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| And pretty primrose decks the earth
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| Then to the Maypole haste away
|
| For 'tis now our holiday
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| Here each bachelor will choose
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| One that will not faith abuse
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| Nor repay with coy distain
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| Love that should be loved again
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| Then to the Maypole haste away
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| For 'tis now our holiday
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| And to you thus well reckoned have
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| What kisses your sweetheart gave
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| Take them all again and more
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| It will never make them poor |