And who are you, me pretty fair maid
And who are you, me honey?
And who are you, me pretty fair maid
And who are you, me honey?
She answered me quite modestly:
I am me mother's darling.
With me too-ry-ay, fol-de-diddle-day
Di-re fol-de-diddle dai-rie oh.
And will you come to me mother's house,
When the moon is shining clearly?
And will you come to me mother's house,
When the moon is shining clearly?
I'll open the door and I'll let you in
And divil 'o one would hear us.
With me too-ry-ay, fol-de-diddle-day
Di-re fol-de-diddle dai-rie oh.
So I went to her house in the middle of the night
When the moon was shining clearly
So I went to her house in the middle of the night
When the moon was shining clearly
She opened the door and she let me in
And divil the one did hear us.
With me too-ry-ay, fol-de-diddle-day
Di-re fol-de-diddle dai-rie oh.
She took me horse by the bridle and the bit
And she led him to the stable
She took me horse by the bridle and the bit
And she led him to the stable
Saying "There's plenty of oats for a soldier's horse,
To eat it if he's able."
With me too-ry-ay, fol-de-diddle-day
Di-re fol-de-diddle dai-rie oh.
Then she took me by the lily-white hand
And she led me to the table
Then she took me by the lily-white hand
And she led me to the table
Saying: There's plenty of wine for a soldier boy,
To drink it if you're able.
With me too-ry-ay, fol-de-diddle-day
Di-re fol-de-diddle dai-rie oh.
Then I got up and made the bed
And I made it nice and aisy
Then I got up and made the bed
And I made it nice and aisy
Then I got up and laid her down
Saying: Lassie, are you able?
With me too-ry-ay, fol-de-diddle-day
Di-re fol-de-diddle dai-rie oh.
And there we lay till the break of day
And divil a one did hear us
And there we lay till the break of day
And divil a one did hear us
Then I arose and put on me clothes
Saying: Lassie, I must leave you.
With me too-ry-ay, fol-de-diddle-day
Di-re fol-de-diddle dai-rie oh.
And when will you return again
And when will we get married
And when will you return again
And when will we get married
When broken shells make Christmas bells
We might well get married.
With me too-ry-ay, fol-de-diddle-day
Di-re fol-de-diddle dai-rie oh.
Writer(s): Dp, June Tabor, Huw Warren
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