Lyrics for this song from The English Country Song Book. It finishes oddly with a random half verse near the end, so something is missing.

The Mower

As I walked out one evening on the fourteenth of July
I met a maid, she asked my trade I gave her this reply:
“Oh for my occupation I ramble up and down
With my taring scythe in order to mow the meadows down.”

She says, “My handsome young man, if a mower that you be,
Come put your scythe in order and go along with me
For I have a little meadow long time been kept in store,
And on the dew, I can tell you true, it never was cut before.”

He says, “My canty dairymaid, what wages will you give?
For mowing is hard labour unless the scythe be good.”
“I'll give you a crown an acre, I solemnly declare,
I'll give you a crown an acre and plenty of strong beer.”

He says, “My canty dairymaid, I like your wages well,
For my scythe it's in good order and we will have a spell;
For on your lovely countenance I never saw a frown.
My bonny lass I'll cut your grass that ne'er was trampled down.”

Like a lion, he being undaunted, he entered in her field,
He said he'd mow her meadow down before that he would yield;
He wrought from six till breakfast time till it went beyond his skill,
He was forced to yield and quit the field for the grass was standing still.

He says, “My canty dairymaid, oh do not on me frown,
For although I mow all summer I cannot mow it down.”
She’s put her hand in her pocket and paid him down a crown:
“Oh, when you come this way again, enquire for Betsy Brown.

“All in my little meadow there is neither hill nor rock,
And when you come this way again the cradle you may rock.”

Come all you pretty fair maids, wherever you may be,
And when you meet a plough boy, oh treat him kind and free.
He ploughs the furrows deeply and rambles up and down,
With his taring scythe in order to mow the meadows down.