ROBIN is my ain gudeman, Now match him, carlins, gin ye can, For ilk ane whitest thinks her swan, But kind Robin lo'es me. To mak' my boast I'll e'en be bauld, For Robin lo'ed me young and auld, In simmer's heat, and winter's cauld, My kind Robin lo'es me. Robin he comes hame at e'en, Wi' pleasure glancin' in his een; He tells me a' he's heard and seen, And syne how he lo'es me. There's some ha'e land, and some ha'e gowd, Mair wad ha'e them gin they cou'd, But a' I wish o' warld's gude Is Robin aye to lo'e me. |