The Lad of Bebside
My heart is away with the lad of Bebside,
And never can I to another be tied;
Not, not to be titled a lord’s wedded bride,
Could Jinny abandon the lad of Bebside.
He dances so clever, he whistles so fine,
He’s flattered and wooed from the Blyth to the Tyne,
Yet spite of the proffers he meets far and wide,
I’m alone the beloved of the lad of Bedside.
He entered our door on the eve of the Fair,
And cracked with our folk in a manner so rare,
Next morning right early with spleen I was eyed
To link to the Fair with the lad of Bebside.
Last night at the dancing, 'mid scores of fine queans,
The eldest among them just out of her teens,
He chose me, and truly with pleasure and pride
I footed the jig with the lad of Bebside.
To wed me he’s promised, and who can believe
A laddie like him can a lassie deceive?
The moon’s on the wane—ere another be spied,
I’ll lie in the arms of the lad of Bebside.
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