I've kiss'd and I've prattled with fifty fine maids
And chang'd them as oft as ye see
But of all the fair maidens that dance on the green
The lass of the mill for me
The lass of the mill,
The lass of the mill,
The lass of the mill for me.

There's fifty young men that have told me fine tales
And call'd me the fairest she
There's fifty young men that have told me fine tales
But of all the gay wrestles that sport on the green
Young Harry's the lad for me
Young Harry's the lad for me,
Young Harry's the lad for me,
Young Harry's the lad for me.

Her eyes are as black as the sloe in the hedge
Her eyes are as black as the sloe in the hedge
Her breath like the new mown hay
The new mown hay,
The new mown hay,
The new mown hay.

He's tall and he's straight as the poplar tree
His cheeks are as fresh as a rose
He's tall and he's straight as the poplar tree
He looks like a squire of high degree
When dress'd in his Sunday clothes
He's dressed'd in his Sunday clothes,
He's dressed'd in his Sunday clothes,
He's dressed'd in his Sunday clothes.