Název skladby
    
Interpret, skladatel
    
Část textu písně
    

Texty písní:
A B C D E F G H
I J K L M N O P
Q R S T U V W X
Y Z ...

Interpreti:
A B C D E F G H
I J K L M N O P
Q R S T U V W X
Y Z ...



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Under Her Apron

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Three pretty maidens a-rushing they went,
And gathering rushes it was their intent,
But before one came home she's born a little son,
And she's rolled him underneath her apron.

O Sally come home with her eyes full of tears.
What is the matter with you my daughter dear ?
Where have you been, my pretty daughter,
And what have you got under your apron ?

Father, o father, o father dear, said she,
It's only my new gown that's too long for me,
And I was afraid it would draggle in the dew,
So I rolled it underneath my apron.

In the dead of night when all were fast asleep,
Then this little baby began for to weep.
Said her father, What's that a-crying out so shrill
In the chamber among the pretty maidens ?

Father, o father, o father dear, said she,
It is a little bird which fluttered to my knee.
I'll handle it and dandle it and lull it asleep
So it won't waken early in the May morning.

But in the third part of the night when all were fast asleep,
The pretty little baby again began to weep.
Said her father, What's that crying out so clear
In the chamber among the pretty maidens ?

Father, o father, o father dear, said she,
It's just a little baby that someone gave to me.
Let it lie, let it lie this night along of me,
And I'll tell to you it's daddy in the May morning.

Was it by a black man, or was it by a brown,
Or was it by a ploughing lad, a-ploughing up and down ?
O if I had a sword I would kill that false young man
And leave him in the dea of a May morning.

No, it wasn't by a black man, it wasn't by a brown,
But it was by a sailor lad who sails from London town.
He gave to me a stomacher to wear with my new gown,
So gay and so gallant of a May morning.

Was it in the kitchen got, or was it in the hall,
Or was it in the cowshed or was it in the stall ?
O if I had a brand I would burn the building down
Where you met with your sailor on a May morning.

It wasn't in the kitchen got, it wasn't in the hall,
Now neither in the cowshed, nor neither in the stall.
It was down by yonder spring where the small birds they sing
That I met with him on a May morning.