No More Learning

He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een,
And vow'd for my love, he was dying;
I said he might die when he liked for Jean,
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying,
The Lord forgie me for lying!

III.

A weel-stocked mailen--himsel' for the laird--
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers:
I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd,
But thought I may hae waur offers, waur offers,
But thought I might hae waur offers.

IV.

But what wad ye think? In a fortnight or less--
The deil tak his taste to gae near her!
He up the Gateslack to my black cousin Bess,
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her,
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.

V.

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock,
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there!
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.

VI.

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink,
Lest neebors might say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.

VII.
I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recovered her hearin',
And how my auld shoon suited her shauchled feet,
But, heavens! how he fell a swearin', a swearin',
But, heavens! how he fell a swearin'.

VIII.

He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his wife,
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow;
So, e'en to preserve the poor body in life,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,
I think I maun wed him to morrow.

* * * * *




CCLX.

CHLORIS.

Tune--"_Caledonian Hunt's Delight. _"

["I am at present," says Burns to Thomson, when he communicated these
verses, "quite occupied with the charming sensations of the toothache,
so have not a word to spare--such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of
this air, that I find it impossible to make another stanza to suit
it. " This is the last of his strains in honour of Chloris. ]


I.

Why, why tell thy lover,
Bliss he never must enjoy:
Why, why undeceive him,
And give all his hopes the lie?

II.

O why, while fancy raptured, slumbers,
Chloris, Chloris all the theme,
Why, why wouldst thou, cruel,
Wake thy lover from his dream?

* * * * *




CCLXI.

THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT.