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Poem by Robert Burns


* * *


  ROBIN shure in hairst,
    I shure wi’ him;
  Fient a heuk had I,
    Yet I stack by him.

I gaed up to Dunse,
  To warp a wab o’ plaiden;
At his daddie’s yett,
  Wha met me but Robin?

Was na Robin bauld,
  Tho’ I was a cotter,
Play’d me sick a trick
  And me the eller’s dochter?

Robin promis’d me
  A’ my winter vittle;
Fient haet he had but three
  Goose feathers and a whittle.



Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Sleep’st Thou, or Wak’st Thou
  2. The Bonnie Wee Thing
  3. Bessy and Her Spinnin’ Wheel
  4. Farewell, Thou Stream
  5. The Rantin’ Dog the Daddie O’t


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