Auld Rob Morris
1.
There's Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men:
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
And ae bonie lassie, his dautie and mine.
2.
She's as fresh as the morning the fairest in May,
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay,
And blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.
3.
But O, she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has nocht 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.
4.
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.
5.
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 no word can express!

Old Rob Morris

There is Old Rob Morris that dwells in yonder glen,
He is the king of good fellows and pick of old men:
He has gold in his coffers, he has oxen and cattle,
And one lovely girl, his pet and mine.

She is as fresh as the morning the fairest in May,
She is sweet as the evening among the new hay,
And blythe and as artless as the lambs on the meadow,
And dear to my heart as the light to my eye.

But O, she is an heiress, old Robin is a laird (land-owner),
And my daddy has nothing but a cottage-house and garden!
A wooer like me must not hope to come fast:
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my death.

The day comes to me, but delight brings me none;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gone;
I wander my alone like a night-troubled ghost,
And I sigh as my heart it would burst in my breast.

O, had she but been of a lower degree,
I then might have hoped she would have smiled upon me!
O, how past describing had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no word can express!