The Lark In the Morning

O the lark in the morning she rises off her nest
 She goes whistling and singing with the dew all on her breast
 Like a jolly ploughboy she whistles and she sings
 She comes home in the evening with the dew all on her wings
 Roger the ploughboy he's a bonnie blade
 He goes whistling and singing down by yon green glade
 He's met with dark-eyed Susan, she's handsome I declare
 She is far more enticing than the birds of the air.
 As he was coming home one evening from town
 With the meadows being green, the grass just cut down
 As he should chance to stumble all in the new mown hay
 "It's love me now or never," this bonnie lass did say
 So good luck to the ploughboys wherever they may be
 That takes the sweet maidens to sit her on their knee
 With a jug of strong porter you'll whistle and you'll say,?
 There's no life like a ploughboy's in the merry month of May