auld rob morris

　　there's auld rob morris that wons in yon glen,

　　he's the king o' gude fellows, and wale o' auld men;

　　he has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,

　　and ae bonie lass, his dautie and mine.

　　she's fresh as the morning, the fairest in may;

　　she's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;

　　as blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,

　　and dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

　　but oh! she's an heiress, auld robin's a laird,

　　and my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;

　　a wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,

　　the wounds i must hide that will soon be my dead.

　　the day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;

　　the night comes to me, but my rest it is gane;

　　i wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,

　　and i sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

　　o had she but been of a lower degree,

　　i then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me!

　　o how past descriving had then been my bliss,

　　as now my distraction nae words can express.