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