4
If she would have him, he did say,
A lady he would make her;
He gammoned her to run away,
And I lost Betsey Baker.
I fretted very much to find
My hopes of love so undone,
And mother thought ’twould ease my mind
If I came up to London;
But though I strive another way,
My thoughts will ne’er forsake her;
I dream all night and think all day
Of cruel Betsey Baker.
WHO’S MASTER?
OR,
A FIGHT FOR THE BREECHES.
Sung by Mr. Potts, Theatrical Pavilion, Glasgow.
I’ve often heard Will’s wife declare,
That she the breeches, Sirs, would wear;
And though her husband would resist,
For them she'd fight with nails and fist,
To gain, to gain the breeches.
One day as they were at it driving,
(Who would he master they were striving)
A single rap came to the door,
And for a while they did give o’er
Fighting, fighting, fighting for the breeches.
