Lyrics:
“Oh! 'tis nothing but a show'r, but a quarter of an hour,
Don't you think you'd better shelter by the chestnut tree,
For the wind is blowing sweet, and you've daisies for your feet,
And should you care to dance I can pipe,” said he.
She was going to the town in a fresh print gown,
And a dainty color flies the daintier it be,
And the piper's eyes are blue, and he looks her thro' and thro',
And the parson's piping bullfinch cannot pipe as sweet and true,
And there's not a bird in June, knows such a merry tune,
As “Merry, merry, merry in the North Countree,
With a hey, my lad, and a play, my lad,
And merrily I'll dance to thee!”
Now that little summer show'r must have lasted quite an hour,
As I've heard a shower can do in the North Countree,
And she'd got a pretty shoe, she'd lik'd to shew it too,
But she could not dance forever, tho' light was she,
So she sat her down to rest, and the rose from her breast
She gave so prettily, and oh! so fair was she,
That the piper blush'd and sigh'd, and he stutter'd when he tried
To say something about roses, and I don't know what beside,
For she toss'd her dainty head, and started up and said,
“Merry, merry, merry in the North Countree,
But it's nay, my lad, and it's play, my lad,
And merrily I'll dance to thee!”
Now that little summer show'r must have ceased for quite an hour,
As I've heard a shower can do in the North Countree,
But if you're in the shade, with a very pretty maid,
It cannot matter much what the weather may be;
And he must have said his say, for in his her fingers lay,
As he took a thread of meadow grass and measur'd for the ring,
And she look'd him thro' and thro', while he vow'd he'd lov'd her true,
Since the day he shar'd her book at church and heard her sweetly sing,
And not any one that June, sang such a merry tune,
As “Merry, merry, merry in the North Countree,
With a way, my lad, and a stay, my lad,
And I'll live and I'll die for thee, for thee, I'll live and I'll die for thee.”
