Trad
Weel dae ye ken o' the merchant's son,
tae the beggin' he has gone
He's mounted on his noble steed and awa' for
pleasure, man, he did ride
La-di-right-fal-a, la-di-right-fal-ay
A beggar wench he chanced tae meet, a
beggar wench of low degree
He's ta'en pity in her distress and he says, Ach
lassie, ye've a bonnie face
They baith incline'd tae tak' a drink,
and tae a public hoose they went
They're drinkin' ale and brandy too till the
baith o' them they get roarin' fu'
They baith incline'd tae gang tae bed,
and under covers they soon was laid
The ale and brandy went tae their heid till the
baith o' them lay as they were deid
A little while later the young maid
rose, and she put on the merchant's claes
Wi' his hat sae high and his linen sae clear, ay
and she's awa' wi' the merchant's gear
A little while later the young man
rose, he looke'd round for tae find his claes
There's nothing there intae the room but a ragged
petticoat and a winsey goon
Him being a stranger tae the toon he
put on that tatty goon
And doon the road he as strongly swore that he'll
never lie wi' a beggar whoor
As sung by Arthur Johnstone (tune: The Doffin'
Mistress)