‘Robin, that warld is all away,
   And quyt brocht till ane end:
And nevir agane thereto, perfay,
   Sall it be as thow wend;⁴⁶
For of my pane thow maid it play;
   And all in vane I spend:
As thow hes done, sa sall I say,
   ‘‘Murne on, I think to mend.’’ ’

‘Makyne, the howp⁴⁷ of all my heill,
   My hairt on thee is sett;
And evirmair to thee be leill
   Quhill I may leif but lett;⁴⁸
Never to faill as utheris feill,
   Quhat grace that evir I gett.’
‘Robin, with thee I will nocht deill;
   Adew! for thus we mett.’

Makyne went hame blyth anneuche⁴⁹
   Attour the holttis hair;⁵⁰
Robin murnit, and Makyne leuche;⁵¹
   Scho sang, he sichit sair:
And so left him baith wo and wreuch,⁵²
   In dolour and in cair,
Kepand his hird under a huche⁵³
   Amangis the holtis hair.