3
Poetic fire can scarce describe
Their beauty a', without a bribe,
And justice gi'e to ilka tribe,
Amang the braes o' Lomond.
For me, I frankly this will say,
Should men endure on earth for ay,
I'd freely spend perpetual day,
Amang the braes o 'Lomond.
———ooo———
Kind Robin Loes me.
Robin is my only jo,
For Robin has the art to loe;
So to his suit I mean to bow,
Because I ken he loes me.
Happy, happy was the shower,
That led me to his birken bower,
Whare first of love I fand the power,
And ken'd that Robin loed me.
They speak of napkins, speak of rings,
Speak of gloves, and kissing strings,
And name a thousand bonny things,
And ca' them signs he loes me.
But I'd prefer a smack o' Rob,
Sporting on the velvet fog,
To gifts as lang's a plaiden wob,
Because I ken he loes me.
