Rob Roy from the Highlands cam,Unto the Lawlan'border,To steal awa a gay ladie To haud his house in order.
He cam oure the lock o'Lynn,Twenty men his arms did carry;Himsel gaed in,an'fand her out,Protesting he would many.
"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 frien's 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 frien's,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."
