Oh, where are you going

“Oh, where are you going,
My pretty maiden fair,
With your red rosy cheeks,
And your coal-black hair?
I'm going a-milking,
Kind sir, says she;
And it's dabbling in the dew,
Where you'll find me.

May I go with you,
My pretty maiden fair, &c.
Oh, you may go with me,
Kind sir, says she, &c.

If I should chance to kiss you,
My pretty maiden fair, &c.
The wind may take it off again,
Kind sir, says she, &c.

And what is your father,
My pretty maiden fair, &c.
My father is a farmer,
Kind sir, says she, &c.

And what is your mother,
My pretty maiden fair, &c.
My mother is a dairy-maid,
Kind sir, says she, &c.”