My, Nancy, O
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows,
Among moors and mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has clos’d,
And I will away to Nancy, O.
The western wind blows loud and shrill,
The night is both dark and rainy, O,
But I will get my plaid and out I will steal,
And over the hill to Nancy, O.
My Nancy’s charming, sweet, and young,
No artful wilds to win ye, O!
May ill befall the flattering tongue,
That would beguile my Nancy, O.
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she’s bonny, O.
The opening gown wet with dew,
None purer is than Nancy, O.
A country lad is my degree,
And few there be that can have me, O,
But what care I how few there be,
I am welcome to my Nancy, O.
My riches all is a penny free,
And I would guide it canny, O:
But was less gear never troubles me,
My thoughts are on my Nancy, O.
Our old guidman delights to view,
His sheep and they thrive bonny, O,
But I am as blithe that holds his plough,
And has no care but my Nancy, O.
Come weal, come woe, I care no by,
I will take what heaven will asend me, O,
Nor neither care in life have I
But live and love my Nancy, O.