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The Ploughman (3) 
The Ploughman (3) 
The ploughman he's a bonnie lad His mind is ever true, jo; His garters knit below the knee His bonnet it is blue, jo. 
cho: Sing up wi't a', the ploughman lad, And hey the merry ploughman; O'a' the trades that I do ken, Commend me to the ploughman. 
As wakin' forth upon a day, I met a jolly ploughman, I tald him I had lands to plough, If he wad prove true, man. 
He says, my dear, tak ye nae fear, I'll fit you til a hair jo; I'll cleave it up, and hit it down, And water-furrow't fair, jo. 
I hae three ousen in my plough, Three better ne'er plough'd ground, jo. The foremost ox is lang and sma', The twa are plump and round, jo. 
Then he wi' speed did yoke his plough Which by a gaud was driven, jo! But when he wan between the stilts, I thought I was in heaven, jo! 
But the foremost ox fell in the fur, The tither twa did founder; The ploughman lad he breathless grew, In faith it was nae wonder. 
But a sykie risk, below the hill, The plough she took a stane, jo, Which gart the fire flee frae the sock, The ploughman gied a grane, jo. 
I hae plough'd east, I hae plough'd west, 
In weather foul and fair, jo; But the sairest ploughing e'er I plough'd, Was ploughing amang hair, jo.
 Sing up wi't a', and in wi't a', And hey my merry ploughman; O' a' the trades, and crafts I ken, Commend me to the ploughman. 
From Merry Muses of Caledonia, Burns 
Note: The basis for Burn's polite poem PLOUGHMN and, probably, the intermediate (in politeness) PLOUGHM2