Classic Poem

As I walked out one morning on the fourteenth of July,
I met a maid, she asked my trade, I made her this reply:
"Oh, for my occupation I ramble up and down
With my taring scythe in order to mow the meadows down.'

She says, "My handsome young man, if a mower that you be,
Come put your scythe in order and come along with me,
For I have a little meadow long time been kept in store,
And on the dew I can tell you true it never was cut before.'

He says, "My canty dairymaid, what wages will you give?
For mowing is hard labour unless the scythe be good.'
"I'll give you a crown an acre, I solemnly declare,
I'll give you a crown an acre and plenty of strong beer.'

He says, "My canty dairymaid, I like your wages well,
For my scythe it's in good order and we will have a spell,
For on your bonny countenance I never saw a frown,
My bonny lass, I'll cut your grass that ne'er was trampled down.'

Like a lion, he being undaunted, he entered in her field,
He said he'd mow her meadow down before that he would yield.
He wrought from six till breakfast time till it went beyond his skill,
He was forced to yield and quit the field for the grass was standing still.

He says, "My canty dairymaid, oh do not on me frown,
For although I mow all summer I cannot mow it now.'
Then she put her hand in her pocket and paid us down a crown:
"Oh when you come this way again, inquire for Betsy Brown.

"All in my little meadow there is neither hill nor rock,
Oh when you come this way again the cradle you may rock.'
Come all you pretty fair maids wheresoever you may be,
Oh when you meet a ploughboy, oh treat him kind and free.
He ploughs the furrows deep and rambles up and down,
With his taring scythe in order to mow the meadows down.