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The Noble Duke of Gordon O 
The Noble Duke of Gordon O 
As I was a-walking by yon sea shore The ships they were a-sailing O The sailors one and all they invited me on board And the captain down to his cabin O. 
Oh says the sailors we'll take her to the hall I think it's a part of our duty O Oh says the captain she'll stay this night wi' me And she'll take her road in the moming O. 
She stayed all the night wi' her mertry sailors all And she's taen her road in the mornin' O She's bidden a fareweel to her merry sailors all And she's bound for the noble Duke O' Gordon O. 
Woe be to the keys love o' your cabin door For they torn a' my bonny muslin apron O It's sae sair torn and sae sadly misworn Sure it'll nae gang on in the morning O. 
He's ta'en a needle from his pocket And he's sowed up her bonny muslin apron O He sowed it up and down and he sowed it round and round And she's home to the noble Duke O' Gordon O. 
She hadna been there three quarters O' a year Till they spied an eek in her apron O The servants her abused and the ladies her accused And they bLamed her wi' the noble Duke O' Gordon O. 
The mistress called her up the stair Right early in the morning O Says The servants do me tell and I know right well mysel' You're with child to the noble Duke O' Gordon O. 
She tumed her about wi' her back to the wall And her face to the Duchess O' Gordon O She answered wi' a smile, It is true I am with child But it's no to the noble Duke O' Gordon O. 
She was tripping down the stair (combin' back her yellow hair) 
Right early in the morning O She met her Captain Glen and wi' his hat into his hand And the ships they were a-sailing O. 
Oh how do you do love and how are you now Since the night you were in our cabin O The servants me abuse and the ladies me accuse And they blame me wi the noble Duke O' Gordon O. 
He sent for a bottle O' the reedest wine And he drank to his bonny Betsy Gordon O He sent for a priest and he married her neist And he's freed her frae the noble Duke O' Gordon O. 
note: tune is variant of Lass O' Fyvie; verse is sort of odd combination of Maid on the Shore and Lass O' Fyvie. Cheerful story, though, even if she didn't change her apron in nine months. RG 
From The Grieg-Duncan Folk Song Collection Collected from Mrs. Sangster