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: The Epitaph: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Elegy On Captain Matthew Henderson: A Gentleman who held the Patent for his Honours immediately from Almighty God. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Election Ballad: At the close of the contest for representing the Dumfries Burghs, 1790. Addressed to R. Graham, Esq. of Fintry. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Gudewife, Count The Lawin: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: I Murder Hate: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Gowden Locks Of Anna: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Elegy On Willie Nicol’s Mare: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Lines To A Gentleman,: Who had sent the Poet a Newspaper, and offered to continue it free of Expense. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Scots’ Prologue For Mr. Sutherland: On his Benefit-Night, at the Theatre, Dumfries. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Sketch -New Year’s Day [1790]: To Mrs. Dunlop. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Prologue Spoken At The Theatre Of Dumfries: On New Year’s Day Evening, 1790. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Election Ballad For Westerha’: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Five Carlins: An Election Ballad by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epistle To Dr. Blacklock: Ellisland, 21st Oct., 1789 by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: To Mary In Heaven: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Whistle -A Ballad: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: My Heart’s In The Highlands: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Captive Ribband: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: A Waukrife Minnie: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Awa’ Whigs, Awa’: by Robert Burns

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