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Goe Cleed Wi' Smylis the Cheek.
Goe deed wi' smylis the cheek,
Goe fill wi' licht the eye—
O vain when sorrows seek
The fontis of bliss to drie!
Quhan Hope hath pyned away,
Quhan carke and care haif sprung,
Quhan hert hath faun a prey
To grief that hed nae tongue;
O then it is nae tyme
To feinzie quliat we fele,
Or wi' ane merrie chime,
To droun the solemne peal
Quhilk ringis dreir and dul,
Quhan hert and eyne ar ful.
Nae joy is thair for me
In lyf againe to knowe—
Nae plesuir can I see
In its fais and fleetinge schew!—
