Verse 1

In the pleasant month of May,
In the spring-time of the year,
'Twas down in yonder meadow,
There's a river runs so clear;
'Twas there the pretty fishes,
How they do sport and play!
And every lad and every lass,
Went there a-haymaking.

Verse 2

In comes the jolly scythes-men,
To mow the meadow down,
With the good old leather bottle,
And the ale that is so brown;
There's many a stout young labouring man,
Comes here his skill to try,
While he sweats and blows, and stoutly mows,
For the grass cuts very dry.

Verse 3

Here's nimble Ben and Tom,
With pitchfork and with rake,
Here's Molly, Liz and Sue,
Come here the hay to make;
While sweet, sweet, sweet; jug, jug, jug,
The merry nightingale doth sing,
From morning until evening,
As they were hay making.

Verse 4

Just as that bright day faded,
And the sun was going down,
There was a jolly piper,
Coming from the town;
He pulled out his pipe and tabor,
And sweetly he did play,
And every lad, and every lass,
They left off hay making.

Verse 5

Then, joining in a dance,
They jigged it on the green,
Though tired with the labour,
Not one less was seen;
But, sporting like some fairies,
Their dance they did pursue,
In leading up, and casting off,
Till morning was in view.

Verse 6

When tired of the dancing,
Not one did leave the throng,
They slept all in the hay cocks,
Till the rising of the sun;
The sun did shine most glorious,
And sweet the birds did sing,
Then every lad and every lass,
Went again a-hay making.