I do confess thou art sae fair

I do confess thou art sae fair,I wad been o'er the lugs in luve;Had I not found the slightest prayerThat lips could speak, thy heart could muve.

I do confess thee sweet, but findThou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets,Thy favours are the silly windThat kisses ilka thing it meets.

See yonder rose-bud rich in dew,Amang its native briers sae coy,How soon it tines its scent and hueWhen pu'd and worn a common toy!

Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide,Tho' thou may gaily bloom a while;Yet soon thou shalt be thrown aside,Like onie common weed and vile.