The Book of Scottish Song/Deluded Swain
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Deluded Swain.
[Written by Burns, for Thomson's collection, to the tune of "The Collier's bonnie lassie."]
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.