Page:Bart'lemy fair.pdf/8

 O Fortune! thou hast us'd me ill;

Far waur than my deservin', O;

Thrice o'er the crown thou'st knock'd me down,

An' left me hafflins starvin', O:

Thy roughest blast has blawn the last,

My lass has us'd me meanlie, O;

Thy sharpest dart has pierc'd my heart,

An' ta'en frae me my Jeanie, O.

I'll nae mair strive, while I'm alive,

For aught but missin' slavery, O.

This world's a stage, a pilgrimage,

A mass o' nought but knav'ry, O:

If fickle fame but save my name,

An' frae oblivion screen me, O;

Then farewell fortune, farewell love,

An' farewell bonnie Jeanie, O.