Auld Rob Morris
<poem> 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.