I'm Going to be Married on Sunday

'Twas down in the meadows one morning last spring
I met a fair maiden who sweetly did sing;
She was milking her cow while her clear voice did ring,
"Oh, I'm sixteen years old on next Sunday,
I'm sixteen years old on next Sunday!

'Tis quite time tomarry when a girl is sixteen;
'Twas Willy that told me so 'tis plain to be seen;
For he's handsome and comely and fit for a queen,
And just twenty years old on next Sunday,
Just twenty years old on next Sunday!

My friends say sixteen is too youthful to marry,
And for twoor three more they would have me to tarry,
They say it is better my milk pail to carry,
And put off my wedding on Sunday,
And put off my wedding on Sunday.

But I think my friends have a small share of skill,
And for twoor three more would be much against my will;
It's a promise I made and must now fulfill,
And I wish that tomorrow was Sunday,
I wish that tomorrow was Sunday.

On Saturday night when I'm free from all care,
I'll finish my dress and I'll Paper my hair;
There are three lovely lasses to wait with methere,
And to dance at my wedding on Sunday,
And to dance at my wedding on Sunday.
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