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Isobel Campbell

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Isobel Campbell

Dabbling in the Dew

Oh, where are you going to, my pretty little dear
With your red rosie cheeks and your coal black hair?
'I'm going a milking, kind sir' she answered me
'For it's dabbling in the dew that makes the milkmaids fair'

Suppose I were to buy you, my pretty little dear,
A green silken gown and a jewel for your ears?
'Oh no, kind sir, oh no, with that I don't agree
For it's dabbling in the dew that makes the milkmaids fair'


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Suppose I were to buy you, my pretty little dear,
Lalalalala and a grey gallant pair?
'Oh no, kind sir, oh no, with that I don't agree
For it's dabbling in the dew that makes the milkmaids fair'

Suppose I were to wet you, my pretty little dear,
With your red rosie cheeks and your coal black hair?
'Oh, then I'd be a wag, kind sir', she answered me
'And it's dabbling in the dew that makes the milkmaids fair'