Jean: You’ve no need to excuse yourself, Robin. I don’t ask it. But the dearest thing I have in the world is my pride for you.
Burns: I’m not worth it. I’m a miserable, havering gipsy. You are my only refuge, Jean. I’ll shut the yard gate. Then we’ll go up to see them.
[He goes out.]
Jean (putting her sewing away, sings):
The day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet;
Tho’ winter wild in tempest toil’d,
Ne’er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a’ the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o’er the sultry line;