Robert Burns Poems

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WHAT dost thou in that mansion fair?
Flit, Galloway, and find
Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave,
The picture of thy mind.
———No Stewart art thou, Galloway,
The Stewarts ’ll were brave;
Besides, the Stewarts were but fools,
Not one of them a knave.


Bright ran thy line, O Galloway,
Thro’ many a far-fam’d sire!
So ran the far-famed Roman way,
And ended in a mire.
———Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway!
In quiet let me live:
I ask no kindness at thy hand,
For thou hast none to give.

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