Three drunken maidens

There were three drunken maidens

Come from the Isle of Wight,

They drunk from Monday morning

Nor stopped till Saturday night.

When Saturday night did come, my lads,

They wouldn't then go out.

Not them three drunken maidens,

As they pushed the jug about.

There were three drunken maidens

Came from the Isle of Wight,

They drunk from Monday morning

Nor stopped till Saturday night.

When Saturday night did come, my boys,

They wouldn't then go out.

These three drunken maidens,

They pushed the jug about.

Then in comes bouncing Sally,

With her cheeks as red as blooms.

Move up my jolly sisters,

And give young Sally some room.

For I will be your equal

Before that I go out.

So now four drunken maidens,

They pushed the jug about.

Then in comes bouncing Sally,

Her cheeks as red as blooms.

Move up my jolly sisters,

And give young Sally some room.

For I will be your equal

Before the night is out.

These four drunken maidens,

They pushed the jug about.

It was woodcock and pheasant

And partridge and hare,

And every sort of dainties,

No scarcity was there.

There was forty quarts of beer, my boys,

They fairly drunk it out.

And them four drunken maidens,

They pushed the jug about.

There's woodcock and pheasant,

There's partridge and hare.

There's all sorts of dainties,

No scarcity was there.

There's forty quarts of beer, my boys,

They fairly drunk them out.

These four drunken maidens,

They pushed the jug about.

And up there come the landlord,

Asking for his pay.

And a forty pound bill, my lads,

Them gals was forced to pay.

They had ten pounds apiece, my boys,

Ad yet they wouldn't go out.

But them four drunken maidens,

They pushed the jug about.

But up comes the landlord,

He's asking for his pay.

It' a forty pound bill, my boys

These gals have got to pay.

That's ten pounds apiece, my boys,

But still they wouldn't go out.

These four drunken maidens,

They pushed the jug about.

Oh where are your feathered hats,

Your mantles rich and fine?

They've all been swallowed up,

In tankards of good wine.

And where are your maidenheads,

You maidens brisk and gay?

We left them in the alehouse

For we drank them clean away.

• Artist:A.L. Lloyd