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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.
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