1. As I was going to Strawberry Fair,
Singing, singing,
Buttercups and daisies,
I met a maiden taking her ware, Foldedee !
Her eyes were blue and golden her hair,
As she went on to Strawberry Fair.
/.Rifol, rifol, toldiriddlelido.:/
2. Kind Sir, pray pick of my basket, she said,
Singing ...
My cherries ripe, or my roses red, Foldedee!
My strawberries sweet I ean of them spare,
As I go on to Strawberry Fair.
/:Rifol ... :/
3. Your cherries soon will be wasted away,
Singing ...
Your roses wither and never stay, Foldedee!
'Tis not to seek such perishing ware,
That I am tramping to Strawberry Fair.
/:Rifol ... :/
4. I want to purehase a gen'rous heart,
Singing ...
A tongue that neither is nimble nor tart, Foldedee!
An honest mind, but such trifles are rare,
I doubt if they're found at Strawberry Fair.
/:Rifol ... :/
5. The price I offer, my sweet pretty maid,
Singing ...
A ring of gold on your finger displayed, Foldedee!
So come, make over to me your ware,
In church to-day at Strawberry Fair.
/:Rifol ... :/
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