Betsy the Milkmaid

As I was a singing a sweet morning song,
Pretty Betsy the milkmaid came tripping along
"Do you want any milk, sir?" Pretty Betsy, she cried.
"And it's yes," says the squire, "if you'll just step inside."

"Now it's hold your tongue squire, and don't muddle me.
And don't you make fun of my poor poverty/
Oh. there's many of ladies more richer than I.
For I'm only a poor girl brought up by my cow/"

Well the ring from his finger he quick-e-lie drew,
And in the green meadow he broke it in two.
He gave one half to Betsy, so I have been told,
And away they went walking down by the sheep fold.

"It's now pretty Betsy, let me have my will,
And don't you deny me in this open field,
And it's if you deny me in this open field,
With my bright shining sword I'll soon make you yield."

Now it's huggling and struggling, pretty Betsy got free,
And with her own weapon she soon let him see,
And with her own weapon she pierced him right through,
And she left him lay bleeding down by the sheep fold.

Now it's home to her father with a tear in her eye,
"I have wounded the squire, dear father," she cried.
"I have wounded the squire, dear father," she cried, 
"And I've left him lay bleeding down by the sheep fold."

The carriage was sent for, the couple they came,
And likewise a doctor to heal up his wounds,
To heal up his wounds as he lay sore,
Saying it's best to desert you if you're ever so poor.

From Phoebe Smith