pose. In spite of that he cannot see through Brown
Robin's disguise, though the king remarks that 'this is a sturdy dame.'
The king's daughter, one would think, who conceals Robin's bow in her
bosom, must also have been somewhat sturdy. Note the picturesque touch
in 8.2.

BROWN ROBIN

1.
The king but an' his nobles a' } _bis_
Sat birling at the wine; }
He would ha' nane but his ae daughter
To wait on them at dine.

2.
She's served them butt, she's served them ben,
Intill a gown of green,
But her e'e was ay on Brown Robin,
That stood low under the rain.

3.
She's doen her to her bigly bow'r,
As fast as she coud gang,
An' there she's drawn her shot-window,
An' she's harped an' she sang.

4.
'There sits a bird i' my father's garden,
An' O but she sings sweet!
I hope to live an' see the day
When wi' my love I'll meet.'

5.
'O gin that ye like me as well
As your tongue tells to me,
What hour o' the night, my lady bright,
At your bow'r sal I be?'

6.
'Whan my father an' gay Gilbert
Are baith set at the wine,
O ready, ready I will be
To lat my true-love in.'

7.
O she has birl'd her father's porter
Wi' strong beer an' wi' wine,
Untill he was as beastly drunk
As ony wild-wood swine:
She's stown the keys o' her father's yates
An latten her true-love in.

8.
When night was gane, an' day was come,
An' the sun shone on their feet,
Then out it spake him Brown Robin,
'I'll be discover'd yet.'

9.
Then out it spake that gay lady:
'My love ye need na doubt,
For wi' ae wile I've got you in,
Wi' anither I'll bring you out.'

10.
She's ta'en her to her father's cellar,
As fast as she can fare;
She's drawn a cup o' the gude red wine,
Hung 't low down by her gare;
An' she met wi' her father dear
Just coming down the stair.

11.
'I woud na gi' that cup, daughter,
That ye hold i' your han',
For a' the wines in my cellar,
An' gantrees whare the[y] stan'.'

12.
'O wae be to your wine, father,
That ever 't came o'er the sea;
'Tis pitten my head in sic a steer
I' my bow'r I canna be.'

13.
'Gang out, gang out, my daughter dear,
Gang out an' tack the air;
Gang out an' walk i' the good green wood,
An' a' your marys fair.'

14.
Then out it spake the proud porter--
Our lady wish'd him shame--