B
Harris MS., fol. 26 b, No 25, from Miss Harris.
1
Robin he’s gane to the wast,
Hollin, green hollin
He’s waled a wife amang the warst.
Bend your bows, Robin
2
She could neither bake nor brew,
For spoilin o her bonnie hue.
3
She could neither spin nor caird,
But fill the cup, an sair the laird.
4
She could neither wash nor wring,
For spoilin o her gay goud ring.
5
Robin’s sworn by the rude
That he wald mak an ill wife gude.
6
Robin he’s gaun to the fauld,
An taen his blaik [wither] by the spauld.
7
He’s taen aff his wither’s skin
An he has preened his ain wife in.
8
‘I daurna beat my wife, for a’ her kin,
But I may beat my wither’s skin.’
9
‘I can baith bake an brew;
What care I for my bonnie hue?
10
‘I can baith wash an wring;
What care I for my gay gowd ring?
11
‘I can baith spin an caird;
Lat onybodie sair the laird.’
12
Robin’s sworn by the rude
That he has made an ill wife gude.