 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
AH, WOE IS ME, MY MOTHER DEAR
Jeremiah, chap. xv. verse 10
I
Ah, woe is me, my Mother dear!A man of strife ye've born me:
For sair contention I maun bear;
They hate, revile, and scorn me.
213
II
I ne'er could lend on bill or band,That five per cent. might blest me;
And borrowing, on the tither hand,
The deil a ane wad trust me.
III
Yet I, a coin-denyèd wight,By Fortune quite discarded,
Ye see how I am day and night
By lad and lass blackguarded!
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |