43. Song—O Leave Novels!

 O LEAVE novels, 1 ye Mauchline belles,
 Ye’re safer at your spinning-wheel;
Such witching books are baited hooks
 For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel;
Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons,
 They make your youthful fancies reel;
They heat your brains, and fire your veins,
 And then you’re prey for Rob Mossgiel.



Beware a tongue that’s smoothly hung,
 A heart that warmly seems to feel;
That feeling heart but acts a part—
 ’Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel.

The frank address, the soft caress,
 Are worse than poisoned darts of steel;
The frank address, and politesse,
 Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel.

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