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.