The Book of Scottish Song/Kind Robin lo'es me

Kind Robin lo’es me.

[The old original words to the beautiful Scottish melody of "Kind Robin lo'es me" are scarce fit for insertion here. The following version of the song appears in Herd's collection, 1776.]

Robin is my only jo,
Robin has the art to lo'e,
So to his suit I mean to bow,
⁠Because I ken he lo'es me.
Happy, happy was the shower,
That led me to his birken bower,
"Whare first of love I felt the power,
⁠And kend that Robin lo'ed me.

They speak of napkins, speak of rings,
Speak of gloves and kissing strings,
And name a thousand bonnie things,
⁠And ca' them signs he lo'es me.
But I prefer a smack of Rob,
Sporting on the velvet fog,
To gifts as lang's a plaiden wob,
⁠Because I ken he loe's me.

He's tall and sonsy, frank and free,
Lo'ed by a', and dear to me,
Wi' him I'd live, wi' him I'd die,
⁠Because my Robin lo'es me.
My titty, Mary, said to me,
Our courtship but a joke wad be,
And I, or lang, be made to see,
⁠That Robin did na lo'e me.

But little kens she what has been,
Me and my honest Bob between,
And in his wooing, O sae keen,
⁠Kind Robin is that lo'es me.
Then fly, ye lazy hours, away,
And hasten on the happy day,
When "join your hands," Mess John shall say,
⁠And mak' him mine that lo'es me.

Till then, let every chance unite,
To weigh our love, and fix delight,
And I'll look down on such wi' spite,
⁠Who doubt that Robin lo'es me.
O hey, Robin, quo' she,
O hey, Robin, quo' she,
O hey, Robin, quo' she.
⁠Kind Robin lo'es me.

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