Classic Poem

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 babe to let fa,
And she row'd him in her apron. —

****** * * * * *

Her father says within the ha,
Amang the knights 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 Edinborrow 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. —