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 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.