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.