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Robene and Makyne stands on the threshold of the sixteenth century, a modest and pastoral counterpart of the Nut-Brown Maid, as evidence that there were poets of purely native inspiration capable of writing verses every whit as perfect in form as anything produced by the Italianizers of the next generation, and commonly far more genuine in feeling.
I care not. Thou mayst repent of thy folly when I am gone. "'Robene thou has hard soung and say, In gesties and stories auld The man that will not quhen he may, Sall haif nocht quhen he wald." Never mair, Rob Paterson, shalt thou have offer of spirit of wine. It shall go there first!"
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