There is a Scottish bothy ballad called The Last Farewell To Stirling (which I used to sing a lot in the early seventies, until someone stared referring to it as The Decimalisation Song, so that noone could take it seriously!) about a poacher about to be transported, in the usual Folk way, for fourteen years to Van Dieman's Land. Addressed to his girlfriend, one verse goes:

No more I'll walk you in the dark
Nor take you out through the King's Park
Nor start a rabbit from its flat
When I am far from Stirling-o