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　　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. Poems and Songs of Robert Burns