Chorus—It’s nought i’th world but Robin.
My feyther sits dozin’ i’th corner, He’s dreamin’ o’th harvest day; When Robin comes in for his daughter, Eh, what’ll my feyther say? Th’ rosebuds are peepin’ i’th garden; An’ th’ blossom’s o’th apple tree; Oh, heaw will life’s winter time find us,— Yon Robin o’ mine, an’ me?
Chorus—For oh, yon Robin, yon Robin.
Then, hey for kisses an’ blushes, An’ hurryin’ to an’ fro; An’ hey for sly, sweet whispers, That nob’dy but me mun know! Then, hey for rings, an’ ribbins, An’ bonnets, an’ posies fine! An’ eh,—it’s o’ in a flutter,— This little fond heart o’ mine!
Chorus. For oh, yon Robin, yon Robin; His e’en ne’er twinkle’t so breet, As they did when he meazur’t my finger For th’ little gowd ring last neet.
