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song—o leave novels 注释标题 burns never published this poem.
o leave novels, ye mauchline belles,
ye're safer at your spinning-wheel;
such witching books are baited hooks
for rakish rooks, like rob mossgiel;
your fine tom jones and grandisons,
they make your youthful fancies reel;
they heat your brains, and fire your veins,
and then you're prey for rob mossgiel.
beware a tongue that's smoothly hung,
a heart that warmly seems to feel;
that feeling heart but acts a part—
'tis rakish art in rob mossgiel.
the frank address, the soft caress,
are worse than poisoned darts of steel;
the frank address, and politesse,
are all finesse in rob mossgiel.