As I went by Huntleigh town,
One evening for to fee,
I met with Bogey O’ Cairnee,
And with him I did agree.
To care for his two best horses,
Or cart or harrow or plough,
Or anything about farm work,
That I very well should know.
Old Bogey had a daughter,
Her name was Isobel,
She's the lily of the valley,
And the primrose of the dell.
And when she went out walking,
She took me for her guide,
Down by the Burn O’Cairnee,
To watch the small fish glide.
And when three months was past and gone,
This girl she lost her bloom.
The red fell from her rosy cheeks,
And her eyes began to swoon.
And when nine months were past and gone,
She bore to me a son.
And I was straight sent for,
To see what could be done.
I said that I would marry her,
But that it would nae do.
You're no a match for the bonny wee girl,
And she's no match for you.
Now she's married to a tinker lad,
That comes from Huntleigh town.
He sells pots and pans and paraffin lamps,
And scours the country round.
Maybe she's had a better match,
Old Bogey can nae tell.
So fair well ye lads o Huntleigh town,
And to Bogey's bonnie belle.
