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 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.

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.