O, the cuckoo is a fine bird,
He fares as he flies:
He brings us good tidings
And tells us no lies.
He feeds on small birds' eggs
His voice to make clear,
And he never cries "Cuckoo"
Until Summer draws near.
O, meeting is pleasure
And parting is grief.
And an inconstant lover
Is worse than a thief;
For a thief may but rob you
And take what you have,
But an inconstant lover'll
Send you to your grave.
O, the grave may but rot you
And consume you to dust,
But an inconstant lover
No female will trust.
They court and dissemble,
Fair maids to deceive,
There is scarce one in twenty
That you can believe.
O, mating, O, mating,
I, mating go I—
To meet my love Johnnie
I'll be there bye and bye;
To meet my loved Johnnie
'Tis pleasure you see:
I could sit and talk with him
From morning till eve.
He thinks that I'll dress in
My willow so green;
But he's muchly mistaken,
For I'll dress like some queen:
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