The rowin't in her apron

Our young lady's a huntin gane,
Sheets nor blankets has she taen,
But shes born her auld son or she cam hame,
   And she's row'd him in her apron.

Her apron was o' the hollan sma',
Laid about wi' laces a',
She thought it pity her babe to let fa,
  And she row'd him in her apron.

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Her father says within the ha',
Amang the knights and nobles a',
I think I hear a babie ca',
   In the chamber among 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 Edinborrow town,
And he'll buy me a braw new gown
   For the rowin't in my apron.

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Its I hae castles, I hae towers,
I hae barns, and I hae bowers,
A' that is mine it shall be thine,
   For the rowin't in thy apron.

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Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin