The Book of Scottish Song/Puirtith Cauld

Puirtith Cauld.

[Wkitten by Burns to the tune of "I had horse."]

O, puirtith cauld, and restless love,
Ye wreck my peace between ye;
Yet puirtith a' I could forgi'e,
An 'twere na for my Jeanie.
O, why should fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands untwining?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love
Depend on Fortune's shining?

This world's wealth when I think on,
Its pride, and a' the lave o't;
Fie, fie on sUly coward man,
That he should be the slave o't.

Her een, sae bonnie blue, betray
How she repays my passion;
But prudence is her owerword aye,
She talks of rank and fashion.

O, wha can prudence think upon,
And sic a lassie by him?
O, wha can prudence think upon,
And sae in love as I am?

How blest the humble cottar's lot!
He woos his simple dearie;
The sillie bogles, wealth and state,
Can never make them eerie.
Oh, why should fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands untwining?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love
Depend on Fortune's shining?

---