1.
Now, Robin lies in his last lair,
He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair;
Cauld Poverty wi' hungry stare
Nae mair shall fear him;
Nor anxious Fear, nor cankert Care,
E'er mair come near him.
2.
To tell the truth, they seldom fash'd him,
Except the moment that they crush'd him;
For sune as Chance or Fate had hush'd 'em,
Tho' e'er sae short,
Then wi' a rhyme or sang he lash'd 'em,
And thought it sport.
3.
Tho' he was bred to kintra-wark,
And counted was baith wight and stark,
Yet that was never Robin's mark
To mak a man;
But tell him, he was learned and clark,
Ye roos'd him then!

Now, Robin lies in his last lair,
He will gabble rhyme, nor sing no more;
Cold Poverty with hungry stare
No more shall terrify him;
Nor anxious Fear, nor crabbed Care,
Ever more come near him.

To tell the truth, they seldom bothered him,
Except the moment that they crushed him;
For (as) soon as Chance or Fate had hushed them,
Though ever so short,
Then with a rhyme or song he lashed them,
And thought it sport.

Though he was bred to country-work,
And counted was both stout and strong,
Yet that was never Robin's mark
To make a man;
But tell him, he was scholarly and a clerk,
You flattered him then!