Here are two versions I have to hand. The first has no source given except for the attribution: "By G.S.Morris. There's a note by Jimmy McBeath with the second one and I'll put that up, along with the tunes when I've got a bit more time (Probably not before Sunday - I'm busy for the next few days).

Mick

---

THE MOSS O' BURRELDALE

Hiv ye i-ver seen a tinkler's camp upon a simmer's nicht,
On the nicht afore the market, fan a' things gaun richt,
Fan a' the tramps an' hawkers they come fae hill an' dale,
Tae gither in the gloamin' on the Moss o' Burreldale.

  Fan the ale wis only tuppence an' a tanner bocht a gill,
  A besom or a tilley-pan, or a shelt we aye could sell,
  An' we a' forgot oor troubles ower a "forty "o' sma' ale,
  Fan we gaithered in the gloamin' on the Moss o' Burreldale

Jock Stewart, he wid hae a fecht, an' took his jeckit aff,
Bit Squeakin' Annie sattled him, we a' got sic a laugh.
She ran ower amang the tilley-pans, for a wee fite iron pail
An' skeppit him like a swarm o' bees on the Moss o' Burreldale.

Noo little Jaimie Docherty, a horeseman great wis he,
So he jumpit on a shaltie's back, some tricks tae lat us see.
Bit a callant shoved some prickly whins aneath the shaltie's tail.
Heidfirst he shot in a mossy pot on the Moss o' Burreldale.

By this time Stewart got the pail torn aff his achin' heid,
An' kickit up an awfu' soun' eneuch tae wauk the deid.
Bit Annie roared, "Come on, Macduff, tho' I should get the gaol!
Pit them up, ma mannie, ye're nae fit for Annie, the Rose o' Burreldale."

Bit Annie wis nae langer heard fan muckle Jock McQueen,
He startit tunin' up the pipes he bocht in Aiberdeen.
He blew sae hard, the skin was thin, the bag began tae swell,
An' awa' flew Jock wi' the sheepskin pyok ower the Moss o' Burreldale.

The dogs they startit barkin', the cuddy roared "hee-haw!"
The tramps and hawkers a' turned roun' an' sic a sicht they saw.
'Twis Docherty as black's Auld Nick, the bairns lat oot a yell.
We shoodered oor packs an' a made tracks fae the Moss o' Burreldale.

Bit noo the spring cairt's oot o' date, the shaltie it's ower slow.
The tramps and hawkers noo-a-days hae langer roads tae go.
We a' maun hae a motor-car if we wint oor goods tae sell.
Bit I'll ne'er forget the nichts we met on the Moss o' Burreldale.

Source: Buchan & Hall: The Scottish Folksinger

---

THE MOSS O' BURRELDALE
Have ye ever seen a tinkler's camp upon a summer's night
A night before a market wen all things goin' right -
When a' the tramps and hawkers they come from hill and dale -
To gather in the gloamin' in the Moss o' Burreldale?

  Man, the ale was only tippence and a tanner bought a gill
  A besom or a tilley-pan, a shelt we aye could sell
  Aye, we a' forgot our troubles o'er a forty o' smal' ale
  As we gathered in the gloamin' in the Moss o' Burreldale

The time was ne'er long that day when muckle Jock McQueen
He started tuning up his pipes he bought in Aberdeen
He blew so hard, the skin was thin, the bag began to swell
And awa' flew Jock wi' his sheepskin piock o'er the Moss o' Burreldale

Now our Jock swore he'd ha'e a fight and tore his jacket off
But squeakin' Annie settled him, we a' got such a laugh
Heaved him o'er amang the tilley-pans wi' a wee bit iron pail
An' she scabed him like a swarm of bees on the Moss o' Burreldale

Noo little Jimmy Docherty, a horseman great was he
He jump-ed on a sheltie's back, some tricks to let us see
But a gallant shoved some prickly whims beneath the sheltie's tail
He cast a shot in the mossy pot in the Moss o' Burreldale

By this time Stewart got the pail torn off his achin' heid
An' kick-ed up an a'fu' sound, enough to wak' the deid
When Annie said: Come on. my duff, now I shall get a gill
Put them up, my manny, ye're nae fit for Annie, the Rose o' Burreldale

O the dogs they started barkin' an' the clippie roared hee-haw
The tramps and hawkers a' stood roond and sic a sight we saw
It was Docherty as black as nicht, the bairns were told to yiel'
We showed them for packs, we a' made tracks from the Moss o' Burreldale

O the spring-cairt is let gairt, the shelty is o'er flow
The tramps and hawkers noo-a-days they've langer roads to go
They a', man, hae a motor-car their winter goods for sale
I'll ne'er forget the nicht we spent in the Moss o' Burreldale

Source: Kennedy: Folksongs of Britain & Ireland, from Jimmy McBeath (rec Ennis 1952)