Robert Burns

Deluded Swain

DELUDED swain, the pleasure
  The fickle Fair can give thee,
Is but a fairy treasure,
  Thy hopes will soon deceive thee.

The billows on the ocean,
  The breezes idly roaming.
The clouds’ uncertain motion,
  They are but types of woman.

O! art thou not ashamed
  To doat upon a feature?
If man thou wouldst be named,
  Despise the silly creature.

Go, find an honest fellow;
  Good claret set before thee;
Hold on till thou art mellow,
  And then to bed in glory.