Classic Poem

Rob Roy from the Highlands cam
Unto the Lawlan border,
To steal awa a gay ladie,
To haud his house in order.

He cam owre the Lock o Lynn,
Twenty men his arms did carry;
Himsel gaed in an fand her out,
Protesting he would marry.

‘O will ye gae wi me’? he says,
‘Or will ye be my honey?
Or will ye be my wedded wife?
For I love you best of any.’

‘I winna gae wi you,’ she says,
‘Nor will I be your honey,
Nor will I be your wedded wife;
You love me for my money.’


But he set her on a coal-black steed,
Himsel lap on behind her,
An he 's awa to the Highland hills,
Whare her friens they canna find her.


‘Rob Roy was my father ca'd,
MacGregor was his name, ladie;
He led a band o heroes bauld,
An I am here the same, ladie.

‘Be content, be content,
Be content to stay, ladie;
For thou art my wedded wife
Until thy dying day, ladie.

‘He was a hedge unto his friens,
A heckle to his foes, ladie,
Every one that durst him wrang,
He took him by the nose, ladie.

‘I 'm as bold, I 'm as bold,
I 'm as bold, an more, ladie;
He that daurs dispute my word
Shall feel my guid claymore, ladie.’