Robert Burns

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IN vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer,
Point out a cens’ring world, and bid me fear;
Above that world on wings of love I rise,
I know its worst-and can that worst despise.
‘Wrong’d, injured, shunn’d, unpitied, unredrest,
The mock’d quotation of the scorner’s jest-’
Let Prudence’ direst bodements on me fall,
Clarinda, rich reward, o’erpays them all!