song—o leave novels 注释标题 burns never published this poem.
    o leave novels, ye mauchline belles,
    ye're safer at your spinningwheel;
    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.