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 recorded by Hermes Nye on Ballads Reliques SOF
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!