| Bonny May, a shepherding has gone
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| To call the sheep to the fold
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| And as she sang, her bonny voice it rang
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| Right over the tops of the downs, downs
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| Right over the tops of the downs
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| There came a troop of gentlemen
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| As they were riding by
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| And one of them has lighted down
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| And he’s asked of her the way, way
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| And he’s asked of her the way
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| «Ride on, ride on, you rank riders
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| Your steeds are stout and strong
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| For it’s out of the fold I will not go
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| For fear you do me wrong, wrong
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| For fear you do me wrong»
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| Now he’s taken her by the middle jimp
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| And by the green gown sleeve
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| And there he’s had his will of her
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| And he’s asked of her no leave, leave
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| And he’s asked of her no leave
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| Now he’s mounted on his berry brown steed
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| He soon o’erta’en his men
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| And one and all cried out to him
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| «Oh, master, you tarried long, long
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| Oh, master, you tarried long»
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| «Oh, I’ve ridden East and I’ve ridden West
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| And I’ve ridden o’er the downs
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| But the bonniest lass that ever I saw
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| She was calling her sheep to the fold, fold.»
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| She’s taken the milk pail on her head
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| And she’s gone lingering home
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| And all her father said to her
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| Was; |
| «Daughter, you tarried long, long
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| Oh, daughter, you tarried long»
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| «Oh, woe be to your shepherd, father
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| He takes no care of the sheep
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| For he’s builded the fold at the back of the down
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| And the fox has frightened me, me
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| And the fox has frightened me»
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| «Oh, there came a fox to the fold door
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| With twinkling eye so bold
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| And ere he’d taken the lamb that he did
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| I’d rather he’d taken them all, all»
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| Now twenty weeks were gone and past
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| Twenty weeks and three
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| The lassie began to fret and to frown
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| And to long for the twinkling eye, bright eye
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| And to long for the twinkling eye
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| Now it fell on a day, on a bonny summer’s day
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| That she walked out alone
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| That self-same troop of gentlemen
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| Come a-riding over the down, down
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| Come a-riding over the down
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| «Who got the babe with thee, bonny May
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| Who got the babe in thy arms?»
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| For shame, she blushed, and ay, she said
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| «Oh, what good man my own, own»
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| «You lie, you lie, you bonny, bonny May
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| So loud I hear you lie
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| Remember the misty murky night
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| I lay in the fold with thee, thee
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| I lay in the fold with thee
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| Now he’s mounted off his berry brown steed
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| He’s sat the fair May on
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| «Go call out your kye, father, yourself
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| She’ll ne’er call them again, again
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| She’ll ne’er call them again.»
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| Oh, he’s Lord of twenty plough of land
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| Twenty plough and three
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| And he’s taken away the bonniest lass
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| In all the South country, country
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| In all the South country |