That’s naething like leaving my love on the shore.
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain’d,
By ease that’s inglorious no fame can be gained;
And beauty and love’s the reward of the brave,
And I must deserve it before I can crave.
Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse;
Since honour commands me, how can I refuse?
Without it I ne’er can have merit for thee,
And without thy favour I’d better not be.
I gae, then, my lass, to win honour and fame,