Now Robin lies in his last lair,
He’ll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair;
Cauldpoverty, wi’ hungry stare,
Naemair shall fear him;
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care,
E’er maircome near him.
To tell the truth, they seldom fash’dhim,
Except the moment that they crush’d him;
For suneas chance or fate had hush’d ’em
Tho’ e’ersaeshort.
Then wi’a rhyme or sang he lash’d ’em,
And thought it sport.
Tho’he was bred to kintra-wark,
And counted was baithwightand stark,
Yet that was never Robin’s mark
To maka man;
Buttell him, he was learn’d and clark,
Ye roos’d him then!