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.