Fain would I hide, what I fear to discover,
Yet long, long too well have I known,
All that has caused this wreck in my bosom,
Is Jeany, fair Jeany alone.
V.
Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,
Nor hope dare a comfort bestow:
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish,
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe.
* * * * *
CCXII.
DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE.
[To the air of the "Collier's dochter," Burns bids Thomson add the
following old Bacchanal: it is slightly altered from a rather stiff
original.]
I.
Deluded swain, the pleasure
The fickle fair can give thee,
Is but a fairy treasure--
Thy hopes will soon deceive thee.
II.
The billows on the ocean,
The breezes idly roaming,
The clouds uncertain motion--
They are but types of woman.
III.
O! art thou not ashamed
To doat upon a feature?
If man thou wouldst be named,
Despise the silly creature.
IV.
Go find an honest fellow;
Good claret set before thee:
Hold on till thou art mellow,
And then to bed in glory.
* * * * *
CCXIII.
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