Two little maids went roaming, roaming,

All in the fields alone.

"Suppose that a boy were coming, coming,

Over the fields," said one, said one,

To the other little maid said one.

Then the second little maid fell dreaming, dreaming.

"He'll bring me a rose," said she.

"He won't! You are always scheming, scheming,

As horrid as you can be!" Dear me!

As horrid as she could be.

Two little maids in a fury, fury,

No little boy in view,

And this is the end of the story. Sorry!

Why didn't they make it two? Eheu!

So simple to make him two!