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.
He's tall and soncy, frank and free,
Loed by a' and dear to me,
Wi' him I'd live, wi' him I’d die,
Because my Robin loes me.
My titty Mary said to me,
Our courtship but a joke wad be,
And I, or lang, be made to see
That Robin didna loe me.
But little kens she what has been,
Me and my honest Rob between,
And in his wooing. O, sae keen
Kind Robin is that loes me.
Then flees ye lazy hours, away,
And hasten on the happy day,
When, "Join your hands," Mess John shall say,
And mak him mine that loes me.
Till then let every chance unite,
To weigh our love and fix delight,
And I'll look down on a’ wi' spite,
Wha doubt that Robin loes me.
O hey, Robin, quo' she,
O hey, Robin, quo' she,
O hey, Robin, quo' she,
Kind Robin loes me.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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