  Its hey for the buff and the blue, Hey for the cap and the feather; Hey for the bonny lassie true, That lives in Hexhamshire. Thro’ by the Saiby Syke, And o’er the moss and the mire, I’ll go to see my lass, Who lives in Hexhamshire. Her father lov’d her well, Her mother lov’d her better; I love the lass mysel’, But, alas! I cannot get her. Thro’ by, &c. Oh, this love, this love! Of this love I am weary! Sleep I can get none, For thinking on my deary! Thro’ by, &c. My heart is like to break, My bosom is on fire; So well I love the lass That lives in Hexhamshire. Thro’ by, &c. Her petticoat is silk, And plaited round with siller; Her shoes are tied with tape, She’ll wait ’til I go till her. Thro’ by, &c. Were I where I would be, I would be beside her; But here a while I must be, Whatever may betide her. Thro’ by, &c. Hey for the thick and the thin, Hey for the mud and the mire; And hey for the bonny lass That lives in Hexhamshire. Thro’ by, &c. |
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