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The Scots Rover.
I AM a Rover brisk and bold,
the truth I really tell to you,
No Daniel Brand of Irish birth,
could e'er compare with Jackie Frue.
Lalta la, turel, larel.
Lalta, larel, turel-lu.
Euphanus fair did me beguile,
the first that drew me in love's snare;
That wicked lass to me prov'd false,
set me a roving ever mair.
Then for a soldier I did list,
my roving fancy to pursue,
And every town that we came to,
I always got a sweetheart new.
At Carlile town and Cumberland,
the lasses there were very kind;
For shirts and stockings I did court,
but left the Heckler's lass behind.
At Kendal next, upon the road,
our lodging was at the Black Bull,
Where Nancy rare, a blooming fair,
her watch and gold was at my will.
At Lancaster where we put up,
we had the prettiest Wench in town,
I felt her tuft, her mistress hufft,
was highly jealous at the same.
