Classic Poem

At the head of Wear Water, about twelve at noon,
I heard a maid a-talking and this was her tune,
There are all sorts of callings, in every degree,
But of all sorts of callings a collier for me.

You may know a jolly collier as he walks on the street,
His clothing is so handsome, and so neat are his feet,
With teeth as white as ivory, and his eyes as black as sloes,
You may know a jolly collier wherever he goes.

You may know a jolly collier: he's a swaggering, young blade,
When he goes a-courting of his buxom fair maid,
With his lips he so flatters her, and spends his money free,
You may know a jolly collier wheresoever that he be.

You may know a jolly collier as he sails the salt sea;
As he ploughs the wide ocean he sets his sails three,
The foresail for to lift her, and the mainsail to drive,
And the little pretty crojick for to make her steer wild.

I'll build my jolly collier a castle on a hill,
Where neither Duke nor Squire can work me any ill,
For the Queen can but enjoy the King, and I can do the same,
And I am but a sheep-girl, and who can me blame?