| On a bright summer’s evening I chanced to go roving
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| Down by the clear river I rollicked along
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| I heard an old man making sad lamentation;
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| He was rocking the cradle and the child not his own
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| Cho: Hi ho, hi ho, my laddie lie aisy
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| For perhaps your own daddy might never be known
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| I’m sitting and sighing and rocking the cradle
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| And nursin' the baby that’s none of my own
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| When first that I married your inconstant mother
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| I thought myself lucky to be blessed with a wife
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| But for my misfortune, sure I was mistaken
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| She’s proved both a curse and a plague on my life
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| She goes out every night to a ball or a party
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| And leaves me here rockin' he cradle alone
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| The innocent laddie he calls me his daddy
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| But little he knows that he’s none of my own
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| Now come all ye young men that’s inclined to get married
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| Take my advice and let the women alone
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| For by the Lord Harry, if ever you marry
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| They’ll leave you with a baby that’s none of your own
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| (or «and swear it’s your own».) |