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.