A G
O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles,
A A
Ye're safer at your spinning wheel;
A G
Such witching books, are baited hooks
A A
For rakish rooks like Rob Mossgiel.
A E
Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons
A E
They make your youthful fancies reel;
A G
They heat your brains, and fire your veins,
A A
And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel.
Beware a tongue that 's smoothly hung;
A heart that warmly seems to feel;
That feelin heart but acks 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.
