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23-—DABBLING IN THE DEW.
1 O where are you going to, my pretty little dear,
With your red rosie cheeks, and your coal-black hair? I'm going a-milking, kind sir, she answered me,
And it's dabbling in the dew makes the milkmaids fair.
2 Suppose I were to clothe you, my pretty little dear,
In a green silken gown and the amethyst rare ? O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me,
For it's dabbling in the dew makes the milkmaids fair.
3 Suppose I were to carry you, my pretty little dear,
In a chariot with horses, a grey gallant pair ? O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me,
For it's dabbling in the dew makes the milkmaids fair.
4 Suppose I were to feast you, my pretty little dear,
With dainties on silver, the whole of the year? O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me,
For it's dabbling in the dew makes the milkmaids fair.
5 Oh, but London's a city, my pretty little dear,
And all men are gallant and brave that are there. O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me,
For it's dabbling in the dew makes the milkmaids fair.
6 Oh, fine clothes and dainties and carriages so rare
Bring grey to the cheeks and silver to the hair. What's a ring on the finger, if rings are round the eye? But it's dabbling in the dew makes the milkmaids fair. |
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