C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Lines to an Inconstant Mistress (with Burns’s Adaptation)

I DO confess thou’rt smooth and fair,

And I might have gone near to love thee,

Had I not found the slightest prayer

That lips could speak had power to move thee.

But I can let thee now alone,

As worthy to be loved by none.

I do confess thou’rt sweet, yet find

Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,

Thy favors are but like the wind

Which kisseth everything it meets!

And since thou canst love more than one,

Thou’rt worthy to be loved by none.

The morning rose that untouched stands,

Armed with her briers, how sweet she smells!

But plucked and strained through ruder hands,

Her scent no longer with her dwells.

But scent and beauty both are gone,

And leaves fall from her one by one.

Such fate ere long will thee betide,

When thou hast handled been awhile,

Like fair flowers to be thrown aside;

And thou shalt sigh while I shall smile,

To see thy love to every one

Hath brought thee to be loved by none.

Burns’s Adaptation

I DO confess thou art sae fair,

I wad been ower the lugs in love

Had I na found the slightest prayer

That lips could speak, thy heart could move.

I do confess thee sweet—but find

Thou art sae thriftless o’ thy sweets,

Thy favors are the silly wind,

That kisses ilka thing it meets.

See yonder rosebud rich in dew,

Among its native briers sae coy,

How sune it tines its scent and hue

When pu’d and worn a common toy.

Sic fate, ere lang, shall thee betide,

Tho’ thou may gaily bloom awhile;

Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside

Like any common weed and vile.