The Given Love

I’LL on; for what should hinder me

From loving and enjoying thee?

Thou canst not those exceptions make,

Which vulgar, sordid mortals take-

That my fate’s too mean and low;

‘T were pity I should love thee so,

If that dull cause could hinder me

In loving and enjoying thee.

It does not me a whit displease,

That the rich all honours seize;

That you all titles make your own,

Are valiant, learned, wise, alone:

But, if you claim o’er women too

The power which over men ye do;

If you alone must lovers be;

For that, Sirs, you must pardon me.

Rather than lose what does so near

Concern my life and being here,

I’ll some such crooked ways invent,

As you, or your forefathers, went:

I’ll flatter or oppose the king,

Turn Puritan, or any thing;

I’ll force my mind to arts so new:

Grow rich, and love as well as you.

But rather thus let me remain,

As man in paradise did reign;

When perfect love did so agree

With innocence and poverty,

Adam did no jointure give;

Himself was jointure to his Eve:

Untouch’d with avarice yet, or pride,

The rib came freely back t’ his side.

A curse upon the man who taught

Women, that love was to be bought!

Rather dote only on your gold,

And that with greedy avarice hold;

For, if woman too submit

To that, and sell herself for it,

Fond lover! you a mistress have

Of her that’s but your fellow-slave.

What should those poets mean of old

That made their God to woo in gold?

Of all men, sure, they had no cause

To bind love to such costly laws;

And yet I scarcely blame them now;

For who, alas! would not allow,

That women should such gifts receive,

Could they, as he, be what they give?

If thou, my dear, thyself shouldst prize,

Alas! what value would suffice?

The Spaniard could not do’t, though he

Should to both Indies jointure thee.

Thy beauties therefore wrong will take,

If thou shouldst any bargain make;

To give all, will befit thee well;

But not at under-rates to sell.

Bestow thy beauty then on me,

Freely, as nature gave’t to thee;

‘T is an exploded popish thought

To think that heaven may be bought.

Prayers, hymns, and praises, are the way,

And those my thankful Muse shall pay:

Thy body, in my verse enshrin’d,

Shall grow immortal as thy mind.

I’ll fix thy title next in fame

To Sacharissa’s well-sung name.

So faithfully will I declare

What all thy wondrous beauties are,

That when, at the last great assize,

All women shall together rise,

Men straight shall cast their eyes on thee

And know at first that thou art she.

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Poems in English 

• Robert Burns: Written By Somebody On The Window Of an Inn at Stirling, on seeing the Royal Palace in ruin.: Of an Inn at Stirling, on seeing the Royal Palace in ruin. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: To Miss Ferrier: Enclosing the Elegy on Sir J. H. Blair. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Impromptu On Carron Iron Works: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Elegy On The Death Of Sir James Hunter Blair: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: On The Death Of John M’Leod, Esq,: Brother to a young Lady, a particular friend of the Author’s. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epigram To Miss Jean Scott: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Bard At Inverary: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Elegy On “Stella”: The following poem is the work of some hapless son of the Muses who deserved a better fate. There is a great deal of “The voice of Cona” in his solitary, mournful notes; and had the sentiments been clothed in Shenstone’s language, they would have been no discredit even to that elegant poet.-R.B. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Burlesque Lament For The Absence Of William Creech, Publisher: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epigram To Miss Ainslie In Church: Who was looking up the text during sermon. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Address To Wm. Tytler, Esq., Of Woodhouselee: With an Impression of the Author’s Portrait. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Hey, Ca’ Thro’ – Boat song: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epitaph For Mr. William Michie: Schoolmaster of Cleish Parish, Fifeshire. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epitaph For William Nicol, Of The High School, Edinburgh: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Lines Written Under The Picture Of The Celebrated Miss Burns: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: A Bottle And Friend: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: On Elphinstone’s Translation Of Martial’s Epigrams: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Book-Worms: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epigram Addressed To An Artist: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epigram At Roslin Inn: by Robert Burns

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Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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