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Poem by Robert Burns


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A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight,
And still his precious self his dear delight;
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets
Better than oer the fairest she he meets:
A man of fashion too, he made his tour,
Learnd vive is bagatelle, and vive lamour;
So travelld monkeys their grimace improve,
Polish their grin, nay, sigqh for ladies love!
Much specious lore, but little understood;
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood:
His solid sense-by inches you must tell,
But mete his dinning by the old Boots ell;
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend,
Still making work his selfish craft must mend.



                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Theres News, Lasses
  2. Scroggam
  3. Theres a Youth in This City
  4. The Toast
  5. Lines Written at Loudon Manse


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