Lyrics Underneath Her Apron - Steeleye Span

Underneath Her Apron

A pretty young girl all in the month of May
A gathering rushes just at the break of day
But before she’s come home she has bore a little son
And she rolled him underneath her aperon
Well, she cried on the threshold and she come in at the door
And she folded in her aperon that pretty babe she bore
Says her father: «Where you been, my pretty daughter Jane
And what’s that you got underneath your aperon ?»
«Father, dear father, it’s nothing,» then says she
«It's only my new gown and that’s too long for me
And I was afraid it would draggle in the dew
So I rolled it underneath my aperon.»
In the dead of the night when all were fast asleep
This pretty little baby, oh, it began to weep
«O what’s that little babe that is crying out so shrill
In the bedroom among the pretty maidens?»
«O father, dear father, it’s nothing then,» said she
«It's just a little bird that my sister gave to me
And build for it a nest and I’ll warm it on my breast
So it don’t wake you early in the May morning.»
In the last part of the night, when they were fast asleep
This pretty little baby again begin to weep
«Oh, what’s that little babe that’s crying out so clear
In the bedroom among the pretty maidens?»
«O father, dear father, it’s nothing then» said she
«It's just a little baby that someone gave to me
Let it lie, let it sleep this night along o' me
And l’ll tell to you its daddy in the May morning.»
«Oh, was it by a black man or was it by a brown
Or was it by a ploughing-boy a-ploughing up and down
That gave you the stranger you wear with your new gown
That you rolled up underneath your aperon ?'
«lt wasn’t by a black man and it wasn’t by a brown
It was by a sailor lad that ploughs the watery main
Lt was him gave me the stranger I wear with my new gown
That I rolled it underneath my aperon.»
«Oh, was it in the kitchen got, or was it in the hall?
Was it in the cow-shed or up against the wall?
I wish I had a firebrand to burn the building down
Where you met with him on a May morning.»
«It wasn’t in the kitchen got, it wasn’t in the hall
It wasn’t in the cow-shed nor up again the wall
It was down by yonder spring where them little birds do sing
That I met with him on a May morning.»