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The English and Scottish Popular Ballads

Edited by Francis James Child.

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Rob Roy

ROB ROY—I

[_]

Campbell MSS, II, 58.

1

Rob Roy is frae the Highlands come
Unto the Scottish border,
And he has stolen a lady gay,
To keep his house in order.

2

He and his crew surrounded the house;
No tidings came before him,
Or else I'm sure she wad been gone,
For she did still abhore him.

3

He drew her thro amang his crew,
She holding by her mother;
With watery eyes and mournfu cries
They parted from each other.

4

He's set her on a milk-white steed,
Himself jumped on behind her,
And he's awa to the Highland hills,
And her friends they couldna find her.

5

‘O be content, be content,
O be content and stay, lady,
And never think of going back
Until your dying day, lady.’

6

As they went over hills and dales,
This lady oftimes fainted;
Cries, Wae be to that cursed money
This road to me invented!

7

‘O dinna think, O dinna think,
O dinna think to ly, lady;
O think na ye yersell weel matchd
On sic a lad as me, lady?

8

‘What think ye o my coal-black hair,
But and my twinkling een, lady,
A little bonnet on my head,
And cocket up aboon, lady?

9

‘O dinna think, O dinna think,
O dinna think to ly, lady;
O think nae ye yersell weel matchd
On sic a lad as me, lady?

10

‘Rob Roy was my father calld,
But Gregory was his name, lady;
There was neither duke nor lord
Could eer succeed his fame, lady.

11

‘O may not I, may not I,
May not I succeed, lady?
My old father did so design;
O now but he is dead, lady.

12

‘My father was a hedge about his friends,
A heckle to his foes, lady,

252

And every one that did him wrang,
He hit them oer the nose, lady.

13

‘I['m] as bold, I['m] as bold,
I['m] as bold, and more, lady,
And every one that does me wrong
Shall feel my good claymore, lady.

14

‘You need not fear our country cheer,
Ye'se hae good entertain, lady;
For ye shall hae a feather-bed,
Both lang and broad and green, lady.

15

‘Come, be content, come, be content,
Come, be content and stay, lady,
And never think of going back
Until yer dying day, lady.’

16

Twa held her up before the priest,
Four laid her in her bed,
And sae mournfully she weeping cry'd
When she by him was laid!

17

‘Come, dinna think, come, dinna think,
Come, dinna think to ly, lady;
You'll surely think yersell weel matchd
On sic a lad as me, lady.

18

‘Come, be content, come, be content,
Come, be content and stay, lady,
And never think of going back
Until your dying day, lady.’