O leave Novels

O Leave novels, ye Mauchline belles,Ye're safer at your spinning wheel;Such witching books are baited hooksFor rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel.

Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons,They make your youthful fancies reel,They heat your brains, and fire your veins,And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel.

Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung;A heart that warmly seems to feel;That feeling heart but acts a part,'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel.

The frank address, the soft caress,Are worse than poison'd darts of steel,The frank address, and politesse,Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel.