Bonny May, a shepherding has gone
To call the sheep to the fold
And as she sang, her bonny voice it rang
Right over the tops of the downs, downs
Right over the tops of the downs

There came a troop of gentlemen
As they were riding by
And one of them has lighted down
And he's asked of her the way, way
And he's asked of her the way

"Ride on, ride on, you rank riders
Your steeds are stout and strong
For it's out of the fold I will not go
For fear you do me wrong, wrong
For fear you do me wrong"

Now he's taken her by the middle jimp
And by the green gown sleeve
And there he's had his will of her
And he's asked of her no leave, leave
And he's asked of her no leave

Now he's mounted on his berry brown steed
He soon o'erta'en his men
And one and all cried out to him
"Oh, master, you tarried long, long
Oh, master, you tarried long"
"Oh, I've ridden East and I've ridden West
And I've ridden o'er the downs
But the bonniest lass that ever I saw
She was calling her sheep to the fold, fold."

She's taken the milk pail on her head
And she's gone lingering home
And all her father said to her
Was; "Daughter, you tarried long, long
Oh, daughter, you tarried long"

"Oh, woe be to your shepherd, father
He takes no care of the sheep
For he's builded the fold at the back of the down
And the fox has frightened me, me
And the fox has frightened me"

"Oh, there came a fox to the fold door
With twinkling eye so bold
And ere he'd taken the lamb that he did
I'd rather he'd taken them all, all"

Now twenty weeks were gone and past
Twenty weeks and three
The lassie began to fret and to frown
And to long for the twinkling eye, bright eye
And to long for the twinkling eye
Now it fell on a day, on a bonny summer's day
That she walked out alone
That self-same troop of gentlemen
Come a-riding over the down, down
Come a-riding over the down

"Who got the babe with thee, bonny May
Who got the babe in thy arms?"
For shame, she blushed, and ay, she said
"Oh, what good man my own, own"

"You lie, you lie, you bonny, bonny May
So loud I hear you lie
Remember the misty murky night
I lay in the fold with thee, thee
I lay in the fold with thee

Now he's mounted off his berry brown steed
He's sat the fair May on
"Go call out your kye, father, yourself
She'll ne'er call them again, again
She'll ne'er call them again."

Oh, he's Lord of twenty plough of land
Twenty plough and three
And he's taken away the bonniest lass
In all the South country, country
In all the South country