The rowin't in her apron
Our young lady's a huntin gane, Sheets nor blankets has she ta'en, But she's born her auld son or she cam hame, And she's row'd him in her apron. Her apron was o' the hollan fine, Laid about wi' laces nine; She thought it a pity her babie should tyne, And she's row'd him in her apron. Her apron was o' the hollan sma, Laid about wi' laces a', She thought it a pity her baby to let fa, And she row'd him in her apron. Her father says within the ha, Amang the knight and nobles a, I think I hear a babie ca, In the chamber amang our young ladies. O father dear it is a bairn, I hope it will do you nae harm, For the daddie I lo'ed, and he'll lo'e me again, For the rowin 't in my apron. O is he a gentleman, or is he a clown, That has brought thy fair body down, I would not for a' this town The rowin 't in thy apron. Young Terreagles he's nae clown, He is the toss of Edinburgh town, And he'll buy me a braw new gown, For the rowin 't in my apron. Its I hae castles, I hae towers, I hae barns, I hae bowers, A' that is mine it shall be thine, For the rowin 't in thy apron.
