The Plowman
(llewtraH)
 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.
Chorus: 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.
THE PLOUGHMAN
The ploughman he's a bonny lad
 And does his work at leisure,
And aye when he comes home at e'en
He kisses me with pleasure.
Chorus: Then up wi't now my ploughman lad
 Up wi't all my ploughman
 Of all the lads that I do ken
Commend me to the ploughman
The ploughman he comes home at e'en
He comes both wet and weary
 Cast off the wet put on the dry
And come to bed my deary
The ploughman he goes to his bed
And thinks to get the ease o't
 But he must yoke the stots again
And brisk about the braes o't.
He has three oxen in his plough
And two of them are blind, jo
The seeing one he goes before
The other two behind, jo
Now the blooming spring's come on
 He takes his yoking early
And whistling o'er the furrowed land
 He goes to fallow cheerly
 I will wash my ploughman's hose
And I will wash his o'erlay
 And I will make my ploughman's bed
And cheer him late and early
 Merry but and merry ben
Merry is my ploughman
 Of all the trade s that I do ken
Commend me to the ploughnan