Poem by Robert Burns

* * *

THOUGH fickle Fortune has deceiv’d me,-
  She promis’d fair and perform’d but ill;
Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav’d me,-
  Yet I bear a heart shall support me still.
I’ll act with prudence as far’s I’m able,
  But if success I must never find,
Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome,
  I’ll meet thee with an undaunted mind.

1. Their Groves O’ sweet Myrtle
2. The Bonnie Wee Thing
3. As Down the Burn They Took Their Way
4. Gala Water
5. Stay My Charmer

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