Morris

  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 18wener 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.