The poem
Chorus.—Robin shure in hairst, I shure wi’ him. Fient a heuk had I, Yet I stack by him.
I GAED up to Dunse, To warp a wab o’ plaiden, At his daddie’s yett, Wha met me but Robin: Robin shure, &c.
Was na Robin bauld, Tho’ I was a cotter, Play’d me sic a trick, An’ me the El’er’s dochter! Robin shure, &c.
Robin promis’d me A’ my winter vittle; Fient haet he had but three Guse-feathers and a whittle! Robin shure, &c.