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There are hundreds of variations of this song and recordings by at least as many. Cate does her own wonderful verion, while I follow Christy Moore.
Bogie's Bonnie Belle
by trad
As I went down by Huntleigh town,
One evening for to see,
I met with Bogey O' Cair- nee,
And with him I did a- gree.
To care for his two best horses,
Or cart or harrow or plough,
Or anything about farm work,
That I very well should know.
Old Bogey had a daughter,
Her name was Isobel,
She's the lily of the valley,
And the primrose of the dell.
And when she went out walking,
She took me for her guide,
Down by the Burn O'Cairnee,
To watch the small fish glide.
And when three months
was past and gone,
This girl she lost her bloom.
The red fell from her rosy cheeks,
And her eyes began to swoon.
And when nine months
were past and gone,
She bore to me a son.
And I was straight sent for,
To see what could be done.
I said that I would marry her,
But that it would nae do.
You're no a match for the
bonny wee girl,
And she's no match for you.
Now she's married to a tinker lad,
That comes from Huntleigh town.
He sells pots and pans
and paraffin lamps,
And scours the country round.
Or maybe she’s had a better match
her father can not tell
so fare well ye lads
of Huntleigh Town
and to Bogies Bonnie Bell
One evening for to see,
I met with Bogey O' Cair- nee,
And with him I did a- gree.
To care for his two best horses,
Or cart or harrow or plough,
Or anything about farm work,
That I very well should know.
Old Bogey had a daughter,
Her name was Isobel,
She's the lily of the valley,
And the primrose of the dell.
And when she went out walking,
She took me for her guide,
Down by the Burn O'Cairnee,
To watch the small fish glide.
And when three months
was past and gone,
This girl she lost her bloom.
The red fell from her rosy cheeks,
And her eyes began to swoon.
And when nine months
were past and gone,
She bore to me a son.
And I was straight sent for,
To see what could be done.
I said that I would marry her,
But that it would nae do.
You're no a match for the
bonny wee girl,
And she's no match for you.
Now she's married to a tinker lad,
That comes from Huntleigh town.
He sells pots and pans
and paraffin lamps,
And scours the country round.
Or maybe she’s had a better match
her father can not tell
so fare well ye lads
of Huntleigh Town
and to Bogies Bonnie Bell