THE PRETTY MAID MILKING THE COW
Traditional Ireland


It was on a fine summer's morning,
When the birds sweetly tuned on each bough;
I heard a fair maid sing most charming
As she sat a-milking her cow;
Her voice, it was chanting melodious,
She left me scarce able to go;
My heart it is soothed in solace,
My Cailín deas crúite na mbó. 
With courtesy I did salute her,
Good-morrow, most amiable maid,
I'm your captive slave for the future.
Kind sir, do not banter, she said,
I'm not such a precious rare jewel,
That I should enamour you so;
I am but a plain country girl,
Says Cailín deas crúite na mbó. 

The Indies afford no such jewel,
So precious and transparently fair,
Oh! do not to my flame add fuel,
But consent for to love me, my dear;
Take pity and grant my desire,
And leave me no longer in woe;
Oh! love me or else I'll expire,
Sweet Cailín deas crúite na mbó. 

Or had I the wealth of great Damer,
Or all on the African shore,
Or had I great Devonshire treasure,
Or had I ten thousand times more,
Or had I the lamp of Alladin,
Or had I his genie also,
I'd rather live poor on a mountain,
With Cailín deas crúite na mbó. 

I beg you'll withdraw and don't tease me;
I cannot consent unto thee.
I like to live single and airy,
Till more of the world I do see.
New cares they would me embarrass,
Besides, sir, my fortune is low,
Until I get rich I'll not marry,
Says Cailín deas crúite na mbó. 

An old maid is like an old almanack,
Quite useless when once out of date;
If her ware is not sold in the morning
At noon it must fall to low rate.
The fragrance of May is soon over,
The rose loses its beauty, you know;
All bloom is consumed in October,
Sweet Cailín deas crúite na mbó. 

A young maid is like a ship sailing,
There's no knowing how long she may steer,
For with every blast she's in danger;
Oh! consent, love, and banish all care.
For riches I care not a farthing,
Your affection I want and no more;
In comfort I'd wish to enjoy you,
My Cailín deas crúite na mbó..



(Contributed by Bette Carl - May 2002)