Mother:
 There's auld rob Morris that win's in yon glen,
 He's the king of good fellows and wyle of auld men.
 Has fourscore of black sheep, and fourscore too,
 Auld rob Morris is the man you maun loo.
 
Daughter:
 Oh had your tongue, mother, and let that abee,
 For his eild and my eild will never agree:
 Thei'll never agree, and that will be seen
 For he is fourscore, and I'm but fifteen.
 
Mother:
 Then had your tongue, daughter, and lay by your pride,
 For he's be the bridegroom, and ye's be the bride;
 He shall lye your side, and kiss you too,
 And auld rob Morris is the man you may loo.
 
Daughter:
 But auld rob Morris I never will hae,
 His back is so stiff, and his beard is grown gray;
 I had rather die than live with him a year,
 Sae mair of rob Morris I never will hear.