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 She is a lovely creature,

I muſt ſpeak in her praiſe:

She is a lovely creature,

the flow'r of my delight,

Through a!l the groves and foreſts,

l'Il range both day and night.

John Preſton has good liquor,

good liquor it is ſaid,

Good liquor makes good blood,

and good blood pretty maids,

She gathers it and ſhe binds it,

the loads it in her arms,

She pitch'd it to the waggoner,

for to fill up his barns.

And thus the induſtrious Farmer,

by the ſweet of his brow,

He labours and endeavours,

to make his barley now.

New harveſt it's all over,

and corn is free from harm;

Before we to the market go,

we muſt threſh in the barn.

And at the harveft ſupper,

ſo merrily we will ſing:

We'll drink a health to the barley-mow,

and to great George our King,

So here's a health to the Farmers,

er elſe we were to blame,

We'll wiſh then health and happineſs,

till harveſt comes again.