Rob Roy from the Highlands cam, <br />Unto the Lawlan' border, <br />To steal awa a gay ladie <br />To haud his house in order. <br />He cam oure the lock o' Lynn, <br />Twenty men his arms did carry; <br />Himsel gaed in, an' fand her out, <br />Protesting he would many. <br /> <br />'O will ye gae wi' me,' he says, <br />'Or will ye be my honey? <br />Or will ye be my wedded wife? <br />For I love you best of any.' <br />'I winna gae wi' you,' she says, <br />'Nor will I be your honey, <br />Nor will I be your wedded wife; <br />You love me for my money.' <br /> <br />* * * * * <br /> <br />But he set her on a coal-black steed, <br />Himsel lap on behind her, <br />An' he's awa to the Highland hills, <br />Whare her frien's they canna find her. <br /> <br />* * * * * <br /> <br />'Rob Roy was my father ca'd, <br />Macgregor was his name, ladie; <br />He led a band o' heroes bauld, <br />An' I am here the same, ladie. <br />Be content, be content, <br />Be content to stay, ladie, <br />For thou art my wedded wife <br />Until thy dying day, ladie. <br /> <br />'He was a hedge unto his frien's, <br />A heckle to his foes, ladie, <br />Every one that durst him wrang, <br />He took him by the nose, ladie. <br />I'm as bold, I'm as bold, <br />I'm as bold, an more, ladie; <br />He that daurs dispute my word, <br />Shall feel my guid claymore, ladie.'<br /><br />Andrew Lang<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rob-roy/
