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'Twas on a summer's morning as I roved o'er the moss,
I had no thought of enlisting till a soldier did me cross;
Then he did invite me to take a flowing bowl,
He advanced to me some money, a shilling from the Crown.
For now I am enlisted, I wear a white cockade,
And by a sad misfortune, a soldier I've been made;
May the man that first enlisted me not prosper night or day,
How I wish that he would perish all in the foaming spray.
And may he never prosper and may he never thrive,
On all he puts his hands to as long as he's alive;
May the very ground he treads upon the grass refuse to grow,
For he's been the only cause of my sorrow and my woe.
My love took out a handkerchief to wipe her flowing eyes,
Dry up your mournful tears now and all your mournful sighs;
May you be of good courage and think of me till then,
We'll be married in Newcastle when I return again.
