There was a lady in her father's garden.
A brisk young sailor came passing by;
He stood awhile and he gazed upon her
And he said, "Young lady, won't you marry I?"

I'm not a lady but a poor wee girl
And a poor wee girl of low degree.
Therefore, young man, you may try some other,
For a servant girl I'm not fit to thee.

Oh, I have houses and great big living
And plenty money to set you free,
If you'll come home, I'll make you my own
And you'll have servants to wait on thee.

It's seven years since I had a sweetheart
And seven more since I did him see.
Seven years I will wait upon him,
For if he's alive he'll come home to me.

It's seven years since you had a sweetheart
And seven more since you did him see
Seven more you will wait upon him --
Perhaps this young man you might never see.

If he's sick I wish him better;
Or if he's dead I wish him rest;
But if he's alive I will wait upon him
Forty years the young man that I love best.

He put his hand into his pockets,
His lily white fingers being thin and small,
And up he came and he pulls a gold ring
And when she saw it, she damn did fall.

He lift'd her up into his arms
And gave her kisses quite tenderly,
Saying, "I'm your young and single sailor
And been many years on the ocean tossed."

Well, if you're my young and single sailor,
Your face and features seem quite strange to me.
But seven years makes great alteration
And the raging seas between you and I.

So come all ye fair and tender maidens,
Don't slight your sailors whilst they're at sea
For when they come home, they'll make you their own
And they'll bring you o'er to Americay.