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Poem by Robert Burns Deluded Swain DELUDED swain, the pleasure The fickle Fair can give thee, Is but a fairy treasure, Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. The billows on the ocean, The breezes idly roaming. The clouds’ uncertain motion, They are but types of woman. O! art thou not ashamed To doat upon a feature? If man thou wouldst be named, Despise the silly creature. Go, find an honest fellow; Good claret set before thee; Hold on till thou art mellow, And then to bed in glory. 1793 Robert Burns Robert Burns's other poems:
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