| Lyrics: | ROB ROY
Now, Rob Roy's from the Highlands come
Unto our lowland border
And he
has stolen a lady awa'
To keep his house in order
"Come go with me, my dear," he
said
"Come go with me, my honey
And you shall be my own true wedded wife
I love you
best of onie"
"I will not go with you," she said
"Nor will I be your honey
I
ne'er shall be your true wedded wife
You love me for my money"
But she he drew
amangst his crew
She holdin' by her mother
Wi' mournful cries and watery eyes
They
parted from each other
No time they gave her to be dressed
As ladies when they're
brides, oh
But hurried her away in haste
They rowed her in their plaids,
oh
They passed away by Drymen Town
And at Buchanan tarried
They bought to her a
cloak and gown
Yet she would not be married
But without consent they joined their
hands
By law ought not to carry
The priest his zeal, it was so hot
On her he would
not a-tarry
"Now you're come to the Highland hills
Out of your native clime,
lady
Oh, never think of goin' back
But take this for your home, lady
"Oh, Rob
Roy was my father called
But MacGregor was his name, lady
In all the country far and
near
None his fame did exceed, lady
"Oh, I'm as bold as any man
I'm as bold
and more, lady
And everyone that does me wrong
Shall feel my claymore, lady
"My
father, he has stots and ewes
And he has goats and sheep, lady
But you and twenty thousand
pounds
Makes me a man complete, lady"
Child #225
@courtship @money
@Scots
recorded by Hermes Nye on Ballads Reliques
filename[
ROBROY
SF
===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY |
