Come, lasses and lads,

                 get leave of your dads,

  And away to the Maypole hie,

For ev'ry fair has a sweetheart there,

  And the fiddler's standing by;

For Willy shall dance with Jane,

  And Johnny has got his Joan,

To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it,

  Trip it up and down!

"You're out," says Dick; "not I," says Nick,

  "'Twas the fiddler play'd it wrong;"

"'Tis true," says Hugh, and so says Sue,

  And so says ev'ry one.

The fiddler than began

  To play the tune again,

And ev'ry girl did trip it, trip it,

  Trip it to the men!

Then, after an hour, they went to a bow'r,

  And play'd for ale and cakes;

And kisses too,—until they were due,

  The lasses held the stakes.

The girls did then begin

  To quarrel with the men,

And bade them take their kisses back,

  And give them their own again!

"Good-night," says Harry;

                  "good-night," says Mary;

  "Good-night," says Poll to John;

"Good-night," says Sue

                  to her sweetheart Hugh;

  "Good-night," says ev'ry one.

Some walk'd and some did run,

  Some loiter'd on the way,

And bound themselves by kisses twelve,

  To meet the next holiday.