Oh, where may you be going with your black mare sleeked so shinily,
With her four hoofs newly varnished and her feathers combed so clean,
With her mane and tail straw-plaited, pranked so gay and smart and nattily
With red and yellow ribbons tied in lovelocks, Geordie Green?
I be going to the Fair
With my mare.

Then won't you take me with you, for I've never been to Stagshaw Bank,
Nor a hiring nor a hopping, though I'm nearly seventeen,
And I've never had a fairing, faldalal nor whigmaleerie nor
A red and yellow ribbon for my lovelocks, Geordie Green?
I can't manage but one mare
At the Fair.

Now what can you be fearing, and I but a young lassie too,
And you, a lad of twenty? But if so it be you're mean,
I've saved up thirteen pennies, so no need to fear I'll beggar you
Or be beholden to you for one farthing, Geordie Green.
I'll be getting to the Fair
With my mare.

Then gan your gait and luck to you at Stagshaw Bank, your mare and you;
But maybe you'll be rueing when you see me like a queen
In Farmer Dodd's new dogcart with the shafts and spokes picked out with red,
Overtake you on the road there and flash by you, Geordie Green.
Yet I'll happen reach the Fair