AH, woe is me, my mother dear!
  A man of strife ye’ve born me:
For sair contention I maun bear;
  They hate, revile, and scorn me.
 

I ne’er could lend on bill or band,
  That five per cent. might blest me;
And borrowing, on the tither hand,
  The deil a ane wad trust me.
 

Yet I, a coin-denièd wight,
  By Fortune quite discarded;
Ye see how I am, day and night,
  By lad and lass blackguarded!

Added: Jan 3 2004 | Viewed: 1018 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Robert Burns
Poem: 7. 7. Ah, woe is me, my Mother dear
Volume: Poems and Songs. The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Year: Published/Written in 1779
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