THOUGH fickle Fortune has deceived me,
She pormis'd fair and perform'd but ill;
Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me,
Yet I bear a heart shall support me still.
I'll act with prudence as far 's I'm able,
But if success I must never find,
Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome,
I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind.
More verses by Robert Burns
- The Calf
- Epigram On Dr. Babington's Looks
- Sylvander To Clarinda
- Epitaph On A Henpecked Squire
- The Bonie Lass Of Albany