An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. If 'twere not
O why should fate sic pleasure have, such
Life's dearest bands untwining?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love
Depend on Fortune's shining?
The warld's wealth when I think on,
Its pride, and a' the lave o't,—rest
My curse on silly coward man,
That he should be the slave o't.