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 toe speed,
the wounds i must hide that will soon be my dead.
the dayes to me, but delight brings me nane;
the nightes 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.