Wee image o' my bonie Betty, As fatherly I kiss and daut thee, As dear, and near my heart I set thee Wi' as gude will As a' the priests had seen me get thee That's out o' hell.
Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, My funny toil is now a' tint, Sin' thou came to the warl' asklent, Which fools may scoff at; In my last plack thy part's be in't The better ha'f o't.
Tho' I should be the waur bestead, Thou's be as braw and bienly clad, And thy young years as nicely bred Wi' education, As ony brat o' wedlock's bed, In a' thy station.
Lord grant that thou may aye inherit Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit, An' thy poor, worthless daddy's spirit, Without his failins, 'Twill please me mair to see thee heir it, Than stockit mailens.
For if thou be what I wad hae thee, And tak the counsel I shall gie thee, I'll never rue my trouble wi' thee, The cost nor shame o't, But be a loving father to thee, And brag the name o't.
[Footnote 1: 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.
When first I came to Stewart Kyle, My mind it was na steady; Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade, A mistress still I had aye.
But when I came roun' by Mauchline toun, Not dreadin anybody, My heart was caught, before I thought, And by a Mauchline lady.
My girl she's airy, she's buxom and gay; Her breath is as sweet as the blossoms in May; A touch of her lips it ravishes quite: She's always good natur'd, good humour'd, and free; She dances, she glances, she smiles upon me; I never am happy when out of her sight.
In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles, The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a'; Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess, In Lon'on or Paris, they'd gotten it a'.