O do ye ken o' the merchant's son?
It's tae the beggin' he has gone;
Well mounted on his noble steed
And awa' for pleasure he did ride.
La di right fol da, la di right fol day
A beggar wench he's chanced tae meet,
A beggar wench of low degree.
He's taken pity on her distress,
Sayin': "Faith lassie, you've a bonny face."
They're baith inclined tae take a drink,
Into a public house they've went;
They baith drank whisky aye and brandy too
Till baith o' them they got roarin' fu'.
They're baith inclined then tae gang tae bed
Soon under cover they're baith lain;
Drinkin' brandy gaed tae their heid
Until baith o them lay like they were deid.
An a little while later the beggar rose
And she's put on the young merchant's claes
With his hat so high and his sword so clear
Aye and she's awa' wi' a' the merchant's gear.
A bitty later the merchant rose
And he looked round for tae find his claes
There's nothing left there intae the room,
But a ragged petticoat, aye, and a winsey goun.
He being a stranger intae the toon
He's put on the old cotton goun;
Doon the street he did stronly swear
That he'd never lie with a beggar nae mair.
