The Merchant's Son

A merchant’s son, he lived in wrong
And to the begging he has gone.
He mounted on his noble steed
And awa wi pleasure he did ride.
Fal al the dooral i do
Fal al the day
A beggar wench he chanced to meet,
A beggar wench of low degree.
He took pity on her distress
An' says: «My lass, you’ve got a pretty face.»
Fal al the dooral i do
Fal al the day
They both inclined now to have a drink,
Into a public house they went.
They ordered ale and brandy too
Till the both of them got rolling fu'.
Fal al the dooral i do
Fal al the day
They both inclined to go to bed
And under cover soon were laid.
Strong ale and brandy went to their heads
And both now slept as they were dead.
Fal al the dooral i do
Fal al the day
Later on the wench she rose
And put on now the merchant’s clothes.
With his hat so high and his sword so clear
And she’s awa wi the merchant’s gear.
Fal al the dooral i do
Fal al the day
Early next morning the merchant rose
And looking round for to find his clothes.
There’s nothing left into the room
But a ragged petticoat and a wincey gown.
Fal al the dooral i do
Fal al the day
The merchant being a stranger to the town
He put on the old coat and gown
And down the street he loudly swore,
He would never lie with a beggar no more.
Fal al the dooral i do
Fal al the day