Oh the cuckoo she's a pretty bird
She singeth as she flies
she does bring good tidings
she telleth no lies
she s**eth white flowers
for to keep her voice clear
and the more she singeth cuckoo
the summer draweth near.
As I was a-walking
and a-talking one day
I met my own true love
As he came that way
Oh to meet him was a pleasure
though courting was a woe
for I found him false hearted
he would kiss me and go
I wish I were a scholar
And could handle the pen
I would write to my lover
and to all roving men
I would tell them of the grief and woe
that attend on the lies
I would want them to have pity
on the flower when it dies.