Robert Burns

The Ploughman - merry muses

The ploughman he's a bonny lad, His mind is ever true, jo, His garters knit below his knee, His bonnet it is blue, jo. Sing up wi't a', the ploughman lad, And hey the merry ploughman, Of a' the trades that I do ken, Commend me to the ploughman. As walking forth upon a day, I met a jolly ploughman. I told him I had lands to plough, If he wad prove a true man. He says, my dear, take ye nae fear, I'll fit ye to a hair, jo, I'll cleave it up, and hit it down, And water-furrow't fair, jo. I hae three owsen in my plough, Three better ne'er plough'd ground, jo; The foremost ox is lang and sma', And two 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 flounder, The ploughman lad he breathless grew, In faith it was nae wonder, jo. But sic a risk below a hill, The plough she took a stane, jo, Which gart the fire flee frae the stock, The ploughman gaed 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 the hair, jo. Sing up w'it a', and in wi't a', And hey my merry ploughman, O' a' the trades and crafts I ken, Commend me to the ploughman.

Don't have an account?

You will be identified by the alias - name will be hidden