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With pride and high living they squander't away,Although they have flourish'd for many a day.

If statesmen decay, how can farmers stand?For many a one's broke here with a full hand,While others mansworn their knavery to hide,Şuch villains amongst us I cannot abide.

So now to conclude, and my song for to end,And wishing my brethren their lives to amend;With a downfal to Pride and black Popery,'Till that happy time, no good days we shall fee.Derry down, down hey derry down.

Text divider from 'The Humble Beggar', a chapbook printed in Glasgow in 1802

MY APRON DEARY.

'Twas early in the early in the morning of May,A soldier and a lassie was walking astray,Close down in yon meadow, yon meadow brow,I heard the lass cry, My apron now:

Chor. My apron, deary, my apron now,My belly bears up my apron now:But I, being a young thing, was easy to woo,Which makes me cry out, My apron now.

O had I ta'en counsel of father or mother,Or had I advised with sister or brother;But I, being a young thing, and easy to woo,It makes me cry out, My apron now. My, &c,

Your apron, deary, I must confess,Seems something the shorter, tho' naithing the less: Then had your tongue deary, & I will prove true,And nae mair cry out your apron now.

Chor. Your apron deary, Your apron now, Your belly bears up your apron now,Then ha'd your tongue, deary, & I will prove true And nae mair cry out your apron now.