Now is the month of maying, when merry lads are playing,
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la.
Each with his bonnie lass, a-dancing on the grass,
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la.

The Spring, clad all in gladness, doth laugh at Winter's sadness,
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la.
And to the bagpipe's sound, The nymphs tread out the ground,
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la.

Fie, then, why sit we musing, youth's sweet delight refusing?
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la.
Say, dainty nymph, and speak, shall we play barley break?,
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la.