Monday Morning.
Early one morning, one morning in Spring
To hear the birds whistle the nightingales sing
I met a fair maiden who sweetly did sing:
"I'm goin' to be married next Monday morning"
How old are you, my fair young maid?
Here in this valley, this valley so green
How old are you, my fair young maid?
"I'm going to be sixteen next Monday morning"
Well, sixteen years old, that's too young for to marry
So take my advice five years longer to tarry
For marriage brings troulbes and sorrows begin,
So put-off your wedding for Monday morning
You talk like mad man, a man with no skill
Five years I've been waiting against my own will
But now I'm determined to have my own way
And I'm going to be married next Monday morning
Next Monday morning the bells they will ring
My true love will buy me a gay golden ring
Also he'll buy me a new pretty grown
To wear at my wedding next Monday morning
Next Monday night when I go to my bed
And I turn round to the man that I've wed
Around his middle my two arms I will fling
And I wish to my soul it was Monday mornin